To Fly
by Waiting To Be Inspired
Summary: Draco Malfoy realizes he has a problem, but cannot stop on his own. Warnings: eating disorders - anorexia and bulimia - and possible self-injury in later chapters. Possibly triggering.
1. How It All Began

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, and self-injury. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Prologue - How It All Began**

He could say that he didn't know when it started. He could say he didn't know what drove him to do it in the first place. He could say any manner of things, but Draco Malfoy was tired of tasting lies. He wanted the taste of food on his tongue, he wanted his stomach to be full, he wanted to not mind having a full stomach. But right now he did mind, and he was in too deep. Sometimes he'd take baby steps to recovery by himself, but then he'd trip and end up back to where he'd started. It was too hard to fight and fighting it was something he'd given up on.

It had started the summer before his sixth year at Hogwarts. He had just received his assignment from the Dark Lord to kill the Headmaster – that or be killed himself. This assignment following so shortly his father's sentencing to Azkaban was a breaking point. _The_ breaking point.

When he'd returned home that night, he'd pushed his mother aside, and stumbled into his bathroom. His mind was a chaotic swirl of images and words that struck a new kind of fear in his abdomen and he could physically feel his stomach churning with all of the recent events. The acids burning his insides as they sloshed around within him. Dropping to his knees and taking several deep breaths, Draco stared at the clear water in the toilet bowl. With one hand grasping the porcelain rim, he raised the other to his mouth and stuck one long finger down his throat.

When he hit his gag reflex, his shoulders bucked and heaved forward, his throat muscles strained, his stomach burned, but nothing came up. Draco closed his eyes for a moment before trying again, keeping his finger in his throat until he could bear it no longer. This time was more productive. He spat out a small mouthful of stomach acid and half digested food. The brown-red half liquid sank to the bottom of the bowl. He tried one more time with the same amount of success before he heard his mother pounding on the door, demanding to know if he was alright. Draco sneered that of course he was alright and flushed the toilet before swirling some mouthwash to rid himself of the taste of bile.

He went throughout the rest of his day, keeping an air of normalcy while alternately feeling ridiculously giddy and extremely afraid. His stomach had stopped its frantic churning; it was just his mind that was left whirring now. For those couple of minutes in the bathroom, when it had been just him and the cold, white toilet bowl, things had been quiet – they had made sense. In the bathroom everything was narrowed down to him, his stomach, the toilet, and throwing up. But outside that little room, in the real world, life was complicated and Draco Malfoy was scared.

So yes, he did remember the first time clearly. He did know what had triggered all of this. He did know why he had started his descent. And maybe that was why he couldn't find a strong enough reason to stop.

**Author's Note: First off, thanks to my lovely beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. Secondly, I was (and am) rather afraid of posting this story, because I thought it might be triggering or offensive and, honestly, if it is, I would love to be told so in a review. I don't want to be responsible for someting harmful. Third, I like this story, but my updates will be sporadic - at best. Reviews make me want to write though.**


	2. You Live Until You Can't

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, and self-injury. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter One – You Live Until You Can't**

A lot of people could say a lot of different things about Draco Malfoy – most of them whispered behind hands shielding mouths like fans – but one thing no one could say about him was that he was a vomiter, not a consistent one at least. Hell, everybody has a piece of them that's a vomiter; it's just all about how well you control that part. Draco Malfoy never simply lost control and binged – he was nothing if not strong. It wasn't that he didn't have urges, it was just that he could handle them, combating them with the fierce growling of his belly. The last time he had thrown up was after Snape had killed Dumbledore. As the Death Eaters ran away from the school, Draco had deposited a load of water and stomach acid in the bushes. When he thought about it later that night, he decided that it was disappointment over having failed his task rather than his being upset over the murder of the old Headmaster. The latter option couldn't possibly be true.

He hadn't vomited after that. Not after the final battle, not when he'd heard that the Dark Lord had been killed and not even when his mother told him that he'd be returning to Hogwarts to complete his seventh year. She thought it would help him come to terms with everything that had happened – or something like that.

So that was how he got to be back in the dungeons of Hogwarts, waking up and shivering with a throbbing headache settling gently behind his eyes. He had gotten into the habit of rising before the other boys in his room**,** those slobs**,** and taking long, hot showers, trying to dispel the cold ache which filled his bones. He dressed well in thin, black trousers and thin, black shirts that, despite being specifically tailored for him at the beginning of the school year, were now baggy on his bony frame. Sometimes he wished he could dress sloppily, in sweatpants and a hoodie maybe, but that wasn't how Malfoys did things – even a failure like Draco. Over the trousers and shirt, he wore his black school robes. As he was pulling the fabric over his head, he realized that, given the way he was constantly cold, he probably ought to send off for some robes of a thicker material – or maybe fur-lined ones.

He stood in front of the fogged-up mirror in the bathroom and, as gently as he could, combed out his yellow hair. Even with the extreme care he used, he pulled away the comb filled with clumps of thin, brittle hair. Back in his room his roommates were slowly waking up and going about their tedious morning rituals. Draco gathered his books together and meticulously arranged them in his bag, before hoisting it to his shoulder and slowly moving down the hallway.

There were two times when it was best to go to breakfast: right before or directly after the meal. Before even most of the food was on the table, Draco could slip in easily and grab a cup of tea without even being noticed. After breakfast, he would join the throng of late students who didn't have time to eat much. Occasionally he'd nibble an egg white or an apple but generally his breakfast was just tea.

Lunch was easy. He spent it in the library, often alone but for his book and the Granger girl. She kept quiet, but every so often he'd catch her shooting him queer, assessing glances.

Dinner was the toughest meal. He _could_ go entire days without eating at all, but generally he'd sit silent against the clamor and colour of dinnertime and pushed food around his plate, eating a sparse few bites.

Cupping his breakfast tea in his hands, Draco moved silently through the sleepy castle. Some mornings he walked for miles with his tea, other times**,** most times**,** he'd sit in some little-used stairwell and watch the stars dance across his vision.

That morning he walked up stairways and through twisting corridors**,** silently eyeing the drowsy portraits on the walls. One portrait he often found himself looking at was the portrait of the Fat Lady. He gazed with a mixture of fascination and horror at the way her rolls of flesh bounced and jiggled as she shouted at him, unnerved by his staring grey-green eyes. He couldn't watch that portrait for long though; he didn't want to be caught there when the Gryffindors came tumbling out in streams of red and gold. So, slowly and patiently, Draco meandered onward towards the dungeons – he had Potions first anyway.

Classes were easy. All the teachers knew who he was and they all presumed to understand what he had been through, so they were never surprised when he didn't pay attention in class and sat there with a glazed expression or even if he dozed a little. The only class which presented a real problem was Potions, but that was only difficult because Severus Snape had been restored as the Potions Master and he_could_ presume to know at least a little of what Draco had faced. Professor Snape did not tolerate Draco's lapses of consciousness and would, if necessary, humiliate the boy to regain his attention. So Draco spent most of Potions class at least trying to look attentive.

His day was not unusual, it passed rather blearily. The only part that stood to note was after dinner in the Great Hall where Draco had eaten a few slices of cucumber and two mushrooms sprinkled with chilies. Afterwards, in the mid-autumn twilight, he allowed himself outside and onto the deserted Quidditch pitch.

Above all things, Draco loved to fly**,** the reckless speed and the control it took to make the precise turns go so fast**,** but he had left the team. He was so sick of other people and team sports had never really been his thing anyway.

On his broom he soared, skyrocketing straight up, then twisting in midair to plunge to the ground only to pull up so late that his toes where skimming over the grass. He flew sharp turns, great speeds and corkscrewed until he was dizzy and his vision was dancing and darkening.

He walked back through the dungeons, his stomach rumbling from his exercise and lack of food – he ignored it. Hunger, he began to realize, was just chemicals in his brain telling him what to do. But Draco Malfoy was tired of taking orders. He didn't listen to his body crying out for nourishment as he wandered the halls late that night. He didn't listen to his mind telling him that he should be asleep at least. He didn't listen to his heart as it beat frantically in his chest, overworked and underfed. He didn't even hear his small body hit the ground – his mind was too far gone.

...

Professor Snape was dreaming of swimming, although if anyone had asked him he would have said that he was grading papers. In his dream, he was swimming through oceans of thick, black waves that rose and fell like they were breathing. Snape didn't know why he was swimming in black waves or what he hoped to find in them, just that there _was_ something that needed to be found. His fingers brushed through the murky-darkness until they revealed a bleach-white skeleton with patchy hair, picked to the bone by fish. The head of the skeleton turned so that the empty eye-sockets stared right at Snape. Then suddenly he was awakened by a simultaneous thump and crack outside of his classroom.

He assumed that it was another one of those Weasley's contraptions wielded by some unimaginative first year out to play some sort of prank on the Potions teacher, so he ignored it and picked up his quill to begin actually grading papers.

...

**Author's Note: I had this chapter written differently before, I didn't change much, I bet you can figure out what happened in the first draft; but I decided that that was too much of a cliche. So there's this. I was going to make this longer, but I wanted to get it posted right away, so I'll save the rest for the next chapter. Thanks again to my lovely beta, WickedTorchwoodFan.**

**Also, I don't know what sort of readers I will be attracting, but to everyone who reads this: be kind to yourself.**


	3. The Last Thing You Notice

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, and self-injury. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter Two – The First Thing You Notice**

What's the last thing you notice before you die? Is it a concept, a thought, a fact, a revelation? Is it some fantastic, ground-breaking epitome? Or is it simpler than that? Is it something you see, hear, taste, touch, smell?

Draco didn't know how long it was before he became conscious again. It could have been hours or just seconds. Time was meaningless and immeasurable in the dungeons. The first things Draco noticed when he gained consciousness were all of those meaningless sensory details – the cool, damp, smell of the dungeons – his shallow breaths reverberating off the stone walls – the sour taste of his hungry tongue – each individual grain and blemish where the floor pressed into his cheek, fingertips, forehead, nose, palm, wrist – the seam where the floor met the wall – the seam where the stones met other stones – the seam where the wall met a door – a door, a door, a door? What door?

What came to Draco next was that he was out of bed after hours, vulnerable and prostrate in some unknown hallway in the dungeons. A hallway with a door, a door, a door. Where did that door go? Where the hell was he? Would he be caught? After the questions came the answers – and the panic. Snape's doors. Please, oh please, Draco silently begged, let Snape have already gone to bed. Big trouble would await him if Draco's Potions Professor stepped out of his doors just then.

He tried to move, tried to hoist himself up, but it was no use. His limbs were shaky and his heartbeat erratic. He closed his eyes and placed his cheek against the cold, stone floor, but the thought of what lay on the other side of that door made him renew his efforts to try and stand up, but to no avail. His body was just too weak. It occurred to him then that he had survived the Dark Lord's task, he had survived the final battle, but he might very well die right then and there just because his body was a little hungry. And that pissed him off. He was stronger than that, he _knew_ he was stronger than that. Anger coursed through his veins and gave him the strength to pull himself up and lean against the wall. From there it was just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. It jarred his body and sent his heart to throbbing each time his foot met with the dungeon floor.

Seven steps later, he was leaning against the damp stone wall and sucking in large, open-mouthed gasps of air, but it was not enough, his heart was still pounding furiously in his chest - begging for help and hurting like hell. He couldn't move anymore, but he refused to let himself sink back to the ground. He was a Malfoy born and raised, and he was too proud to lie on the ground - especially not when he doubted that he would ever regain consciousness. His heart beat through the marrow of his bones, his brittle fingernails, the hairs on his arms. It beat behind his temples and through his eyelids, in his tongue and through his spine. Draco could almost imagine his heartbeat moving the stone wall pressed against him when it really did seem to move as the door opened and a shadow of the black wall stepped into the light. Cold wires of fear streaked through Draco's veins as the blurry figure of his Potions Professor came into focus in the dim hallway.

"Just what are you doing out of bed so late, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape's slow drawl blanketed the hallway.

Draco turned and blinked slowly at the dark figure, thinking as fast as he could. "Professor." He slurred, then paused to suck in more oxygen and think. "I apologize." Another pause, another breath, another moment of thought. "I do believe that I was sleepwalking."

The words hung in the dark passageway for long seconds before Snape cocked an eyebrow, "Sleepwalking?"

Draco looked away, chest heaving, "Yes, sir."

Snape nodded abruptly, "Well, then, you certainly still look asleep. Come on, I'll escort you back to your dorm."

"Sir, that's not nec-" Draco was cut off as Snape grabbed his elbow and dragged him down the corridor.

If he had been alone, the pace would have been impossible to uphold, but it seemed that Snape was doing all the work, pulling most of Draco's meager weight along while all Draco had to do was stay upright - which, although difficult, was doable. Snape's black boots tapped out a quick, regular rhythm on the stone floors, as quickly as if he weren't dragging a nearly dead weight.

Snape said not one word for the entire trip and deposited the boy soundlessly in front of the entrance to the Slytherin common rooms before striding purposefully back down the halls - chaos in his mind. He didn't wait to hear the boy mutter the password in a voice that was more like a gasp, he didn't wait to see the boy slump through the passageway and drag himself through the common room.

Draco stumbled to his rooms, to his bed, with fog descending over his vision. He heaved himself onto the mattress and contemplated if he would truly wake the next day. It didn't matter anymore, so he let his eyes slide shut. Sleep swept him up in its heavy, dark shroud.

Back in his office, Snape sank into a black, leather chair and thought. That night, that walk through the dark corridors with the boy, was forcing him to come to a realization. He regretedly decided that there was something not quite right – and, in fact, downright wrong – with that boy. He had first seen it in class with the boy's low grades and lack of interest; he had seen it in the dark, gaunt circles beneath the boy's eyes; he had seen it in the sluggish way he would move – as if standing up required supreme effort – but Snape had pushed it aside, labeling it as the stress of coming back to Hogwarts after what had happened, Snape himself had been feeling that very same stress, although it wasn't affecting him nearly as badly as it seemed to be affecting the boy.

He had felt a frailty in the boy this night, a weakness, a vulnerability, that he could not simply ignore. He had felt bones beneath his fingers, beneath the boy's layers of clothes. The boy had looked at if he was _dying_.

Severus Snape did not know what to do, but he knew that he could not stand by and just let this happen.

******Author's Note: Pardon if this is terrible or has any glaring errors, I just wanted to get this to you guys as soon as possible. Tell me of any errors if you see them, though. Thanks to my awesome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. And again, be good to yourselves, everyone.**


	4. Waking

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, and self-injury. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter Three - Waking**

Draco slept without dreaming. It was dark and solid and short. His eyelids were heavy dark curtains between him and the rest of the world. It wasn't heaven or hell, but it was finally something resembling peace.

The weight of his tiredness dragged him down and kept him asleep much later than usual. He still slumbered on while his roommates woke and dressed and readied their school books.

The Malfoy boy woke only briefly when Blaise Zabini shook his shoulder, "You going to wake up and get to class or not?"

The blonde retorted with a list of explicitwords that would make a sailor blush. Blaise just laughed and shook his head before sauntering out of the room, "Have it your way, mate."

Strangely enough, through all that had happened, Zabini was the only Hogwarts student with whom Draco was on friendly terms. The rest either feared him or hated his guts – or both. Zabini was wary, but not timid, muscling his way into Draco's life, trying to keep up some semblance of the normal friendship they once had.

There was an ache that filled Draco's body as he drifted back to sleep, a throbbing pain that beat with his heart – hard and fast. Opening his eyes shot thick rays of pain through his head and each stupid utterance of his roommates was as if they were stomping his eardrums. He felt hung-over even though he had not touched alcohol in the longest time. His bed was too hard: it could not fill the gaps between his bones, leaving tiny pockets of cold air that the heavy blankets could not dispel. He shifted and twisted, the peace of the night gone, but not the tiredness.

His roommates were long gone before Draco even began to contemplate getting out of bed.

...

At breakfast the next morning, Severus Snape sat stiffly in his chair, dark eyes intent on all the students in the Great Hall. He watched as sleepy children filed in wearing green, gold, red, blue, silver, black. He watched as the children stuffed their mouths with food, their speech becoming more animated bythe food that entered their systems. Snape watched the uncaring way they fed their bodies, filling themselves up with the food they wanted because they wanted it. There was a certain carelessness that he admired, a carelessness that he realized that the young boy who wandered the halls last night lacked.

Snape waited as students filtered into and out of the Great Hall, clutching their schoolbooks or racing the clock. He had arrived early and waited until class nearly began, but there was still no sign of a certain young blonde. The Potions professor did not know what he expected**,** if he expected to see the Malfoy child acting completely normal, as if everything that happened last night was just a bad dream**,** but nothing happening was definitely not what he expected.

He swept into the classroom, nearly late and in a foul temper. His first class was a mixture of seventh year Slytherins and Gryffindors and was definitely lacking a certain young Slytherin. No one else seemed to notice the seat that sat glaringly empty, but of course it hadn't been really full in a long time. The boy who had sat there for the past year had been nothing short of a shell. Severus longed to just leave his class and find the boy, confront him and figure out what the hell was so wrong with him. Instead, he turned to his class and began to teach with an extra spark of cruelty.

...

When Draco dropped his legs out of bed and sat up, he glanced out the window and the high angle of the sun. He had probably missed his first two, maybe three, classes. Not that it particularly mattered – no matter what his marks were now no one would ever hire him. There was no future for a former Death Eater, especially not one who was also the son of a Death Eater and the favorite student of another Death Eater.

As to that latter Death Eater, Draco felt dread drip through his bones as he realized that he had most certainly missed Snape's class that morning. He had vaguely entertained notions of showing up and acting as if nothing happened and then having Snape put the incident of the night before behind him, dismissing it as one would an annoying fly, but it was too late for that now.

Slowly, Draco shuffled to the bathroom and showered. Returning to his room, he decided that there was no point in going to class halfway through the day, so he crawled back into bed.

...

Draco was neither at lunch nor dinner, a fact of which Severus Snape was acutely aware throughout the day and afterwards as he graded papers in his office. It was late evening or early night when a young first year Ravenclaw stumbled into the Potions classroom and made a sloppy half-bow to the notorious professor.

Snape stared at him through a cloud of fog, "Who are you?"

"Peter Doyle. You gave me detention for spilling some… um-" The poor boy wracked his brains for the ingredient.

"Oh," Snape waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Of course. For your detention tonight, you will go find a person for me and escort him here."

"'Oo?"

"Draco Malfoy. A Slytherin seventh year-"

The boy barked out a half laugh, "I know 'oo Draco Malfoy is. Who don't?"

Snape raised his hand quickly, ready to strike the atrocious first year across the cheek, the child's eyes widened and Snape lowered his hand. "Just go get Draco Malfoy and _escort him here_."

The little Ravenclaw gave another one of his less-than-graceful half-bows before scurrying out of Snape's office. Snape stared at the hand which he had raised to hit the boy. Years of being a teacher and no student had ever provoked him enough to raise his hand. Now Draco Malfoy had a problem and Snape was resorting to violence to defend him. Shaking his head over his sentimentality, Snape went back to grading papers, keeping one eye on the door.

The waiting was agony. Time felt thick and slow, syrupy like molasses. Snape turned his attention back to the papers he had been grading, but the words hung limp and meaningless before his eyes. He linkedhis fingers together, resting his chin on them and watched the door intently as the seconds drizzled by. Maybe he shouldn't have sent the first year to get the boy, what if he passed out? He had certainly looked like he was about to last night. He began to wonder grimly if he should have gone himself to fetch the poor boy.

After what seemed like an eternity, a timid knock powered through his door. "Enter," Snape called.

The first year stumbled in, half-bowed and moved aside as the black-robed figure behind him stepped slowly into the room. The small dark figure leaned heavily against the wall, staring listlessly into the room. Dark circles hung below glazed eyes and over shadowy cheekbones and thin, grayish lips.

Snape dragged his eyes away from Draco to shoo the first year out of the room, "Go away. Be more careful next time."

The door shut loudly behind the first year, bleeding into the silence of the room.

"You look terrible." Snape gazed down his nose at the boy.

The boy swallowed, "Sorry, Professor, but that annoying little child woke me up."

"Sleepwalking yesterday. Sleeping today. Are you quite well, young Mr. Malfoy?"

"Just a slight cold," the boy sneered. "With the way you teachers drive us students like slaves, it's no wonder I'm getting sick."

Snape gazed steadily at the boy, "Now tell me, Mr. Malfoy, why do I not believe you?"

Draco shifted nervously in his too-large robe, "Do you _want_ something, Professor?"

"You lied to me last night and just now. You weren't sleepwalking; you don't have a cold. What is wrong with you?"

Draco paused, mouth slightly agape. No one had asked him that question in a long time; they hadn't cared or they had just assumed that they knew the answer. Encountering someone who thought otherwise was … striking. His heart hammered in his ribcage, pleading for him to tell the truth for once.

Draco Malfoy swallowed, "Nothing, sir. But I am tired. May I go, please?"

Snape's dark eyebrows knotted together; for a moment there he had almost seen a real boy underneath all the hurt. "Have you eaten today?"

"Of course I have!" Draco set his jaw. "What? Do you think I'm some _child_ who's too stupid to look after himself? I've been _clever_ enough to remember to eat for quite some time now!"

Draco's tone washed over Severus who coolly asked, "What did you have, then?"

Draco faltered for a moment, but that moment was long enough for Severus to see the lie.

"Come on, then, let's go to my quarters and I'll get you some food."

"Thank you, _sir_, but I'd really rather not."

Snape's firm hand on Draco's weak arm left no room for argument as the two dark figures entered Snape's quarters.

**Author's Note: Thanks to my awseome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. Also, I've made a playlist of music that is pretty much all I listen to when writing this which can be found here: /journal/158432-December-Playlist-To-Fly-II which then links to the playlist itself. There are five more chapters nearly already written and I'm thinking I'll update once a week just to spread them apart and make them last longer. Again, I love reviews.**

**Please be good to yourselves!**


	5. Calculations

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, and self-injury. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter Four - Calculations**

Snape's rooms were nearly exactly like Draco had expected. Neat, clean and nearly impersonal. There was a couch that looked overstuffed and new, a bookshelf crammed with old tomes, a black coffee table and a wide, empty fireplace. Aside from that, the room was bare. The w**a**lls were made of the same dreary stone as the rest of the dungeons, although these dark stones didn't seem to suck the heat out of the room, not as much as the others, at least.

Snape dragged Draco through those rooms and into a kitchen where he deposited the boy into a chair and asked, "So what do you want?"

Draco refused to look at his Professor. His eyes traveled along the dark marble countertop, up the mahogany cupboards, over the double-sized refrigerator. "I'm not hungry."

"Of course you're not," Snape lit the stove and dropped a pat of butter onto a frying pan. He glanced at the boy's reflection in the kitchen window, considering, "How much do you weigh?"

"That's a rude question to ask."

Snape regarded Malfoy carefully, "And unfortunately it seems to be a necessary one. I'll ask again: _how much do you weigh_?"

"I can't help wondering if you asking me that question doesn't break all sorts of rules about teacher-student relationships." Draco sneered, inspecting his brittle fingernails.

Snape grabbed three eggs from the fridge and cracked them into a bowl. Before he could whisk them together, Draco cut in sharply, "Just the whites, Professor, please. I have some weird allergic reaction to the yolks. My, um, my throat swells up and I can't breathe and," he shook his skeletal head, "and it's really not a good time."

"Of course you're allergic, how convenient," Snape sneered as he carefully removed the yolks and beat the eggs together with a splash of two percent milk. "So am I to assume you have many other food allergies as well? Allergies that keep you from eating at mealtimes and," he glanced meaningfully at the boy, "from the looks of things, eating in general?"

"Yes, sir." Draco's words were hard and certain, his eyes challenging.

Snape rolled his own eyes and pushed the plate of steaming eggs at the boy. "On second thought," he pulled it back across the table. "How much do you weigh?"

Draco stared straight into Snape's eyes, "One hundred and twenty two pounds, last I checked."

"Get up." With a flick of his wand, Snape made a scale appear on the kitchen floor. "Come on now," he grabbed the boy and dragged him onto the scale, "how much do you really weigh? Let's do it now before you get all of that food in your system."

Through a fair amount of force, Snape was able to keep his student on the scale long enough for a tentative number to appear and waver. Snape read it grimly, **"**One Ten. Draco-"

"Sod off, old man, will you? What I weigh will never be your business. It will never have anything to do with you. Ever." The boy wrenched free of his teacher's hold and stormed out of the rooms. Snape was too stunned to move. It was only after the air had stilled and the scale had disappeared that Snape realized that the eggs remained uneaten. He threw the congealing slop into the wastebasket and poured himself a good strong shot of Firewhisky. Draco's weight was worse than he thought, he knew the boy was under weight but he didn't think 10-pounds-below-the-average under weight. He downed his drink and poured himself another. He had proven to himself that he couldn't force Draco to eat and that he _could_ push him too far, but he still had to help him. Short of force feeding him and making the boy hate him, Snape didn't know what to do. He finished his drink and reached for his marking, though his mind was far from it but rather on a blond boy and how to make said blond boy eat.

...

Draco almost hadn't been lying when he told Snape that he had weighed one twenty two last time he checked; he had weighed one twenty, but that had been the last time Draco had weighed himself and _that_ was before his obsession sank in. It wasn't about losing weight for Draco, it never had been, it was about feeling right. Caring about a number on a scale didn't feel right, weighing himself fanatically didn't feel right; not eating did. Not eating and having control over not eating felt right to Draco and that was why he couldn't bring himself to stop.

Despite it not being about numbers, seeing the needle waver over such a low number had ignited something inside of Draco, a grim fire of satisfaction. It felt good to be that much lighter. It felt good to be that much less. He realized that it felt good to lose weight and it felt good to see that number go down.

...

Snape did not see Draco the next day at breakfast, not that he honestly expected to, but the boy did show up to Potions class in an act of defiance, his steely grey-blue eyes challenging his professor to make a single comment about the night before. Snape would have said something, anything, if he could have found a way to not raise the suspicion of the boy's lab partner, a sweaty meatclod of a Slytherin boy.

When that sweaty meatclod spilled a jar of fish scales, Snape found his opportunity. "Malfoy! Detention tonight for clumsiness. My office, seven o'clock. Or you _will _fail this class_._"

The meatclod protested that it was him and not Draco, but Snape spat, "Shut it!". It was his Potions classroom, not a place of justice.

...

Seven o'clock arrived too slowly and too quickly at the same time. Seven o'clock came and went without sign of the skinny boy. It was nearly half-past by the time he skulked through the door.

"Good of you to come, I feared you might have lost your way," Snape's dark eyes sparked.

"No such luck," Draco sneered. "So what am I to do? Clean off the undersides of these desks? Scrub where some idiotic first year lost control of his bowels? Reorganize your ingredients?"

Snape let out a quick, harsh laugh. "You hardly look fit enough to stand, much less clean."

"Then I might as well leave." The door handle was already in the boy's hand.

"Ah, but if you did that, I might have to have some words with Madame Pomfrey about your…lack of vigor in class."

It was a threat, pure and simple. A threat that nearly didn't work. The boy twisted the doorknob and began to push before turning around. "Alright, what is it you want?"

Snape was at a loss; this was where his plan ended. What happened now? He had to think of the perfect thing to say to the boy because Snape knew that he himself was the only one who had half a chance of truly understanding. It was Snape and Snape alone who could make a difference in this boy's life; it was Snape who could bring this boy back from the brink of death.

**Author's Note: Thanks to my awseome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan.**

**Please be good to yourselves!**


	6. Life

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, and self-injury. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter Five – Life**

Snape stared at his fists, collecting his thoughts. At last he glanced up at Draco. The boy still stood by the door, completely and utterly still. The hard, white planes of his face looked as if they were made of marble. The grey-blue eyes didn't even blink, they gazed cold and hard, and maybe even a little scared, at Snape.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut, "You're failing my class. Your other marks are just as poor."

The stone boy shrugged: a movement of bony wings beneath a black tent.

"You used to have a real knack for Potions." Another wing-shrug. "What happened?"

Draco just stared at his Professor, "You know what happened."

"Yes, I know what happened, but what I don't get is how it's affecting you…."

A wing-shrug, "It's affecting me like this."

Snape closed his eyes and kept them closed as he asked, "When was the last time you had a real meal?"

He heard the slight rustle of cloth; he didn't need to open his eyes to see his student's stubborn wing-shrug. He opened his eyelids quickly, his dark eyes flaming, "Why won't you answer me? I'm trying to help you, can't you see that?"

"With all due respect, _Professor_," Draco hissed, "I don't need your help. I'm doing perfectly fine on my own."

"You are not doing fine! Your grades are terrible; you're not setting yourself up for a promising future with these marks. Who will hire a student who flunks out his seventh year?"

"Better question," Draco thrust his pointed chin forward, "who would hire one so talked about as I? Who, other than the great Albus Dumbledore," Draco sneered the late Headmaster's name, "would hire a Death Eater? Everyone saw where that got him."

"Then why are you still here?" Snape asked the question Draco dreaded, the question he could not answer.

Snape accepted Draco's silence with a nod of his head, "You will have detention with me every night until I see you at every meal and your marks go up."

...

This power that Snape lorded over him, Draco decided, was a power trip. He knew he could control the boy, he knew he was one of the few teachers who did not fear him, and so he lorded that over his student.

These detentions were pointless. Draco yearned to be flying. Snape still did not allow him to do physical work and instead watched him like a hawk until Draco at least pretended to work on his studies. It was tiresome and lazy. Draco wanted to be out on the Quidditch pitch. He wanted the breakneck speed, the darkness, the chill, the uncertainty. He wanted the thrill and power he felt as he raced around on his broom.

It was just after his fourth detention, late at night, that Draco headed towards his rooms until he knew his Professor was no longer watching and then he took a quick right turn and headed onto the dewy grass outside of Hogwarts. The moon was high and full, it lit up the grounds well enough for Draco to make his way toward the Slytherin locker rooms where he still kept his broom. His broom was warm and sleek in his hands. It had been only five or six days since he had last held it, but missing it had been a dull cold ache in his chest and he was glad to be holding it again.

He mounted it slightly unsteadily; he had kept up his usual unsteady pattern of going to meals and eating despite the displeasure he would glimpse in Snape's eyes. He grasped the polished, black wood and kicked off the ground.

It had been too long since the last time he had flown. It had been far too long since the last time the cold wind had torn the dry, feeble skin of his cheeks and brushed his ears a delicate shade of scarlet that would evoke the envy of any Weasley. It had been too long since the last time the wind had thrust his dark robes against his chest and threatened to dump him off his broom. It had been too long since he had overpowered the wind and flown on.

His wonderful flight ended much sooner than he would have liked, but his last flight had given Draco a sense of caution and he did not want to find himself passed out on the floor of the dungeon hallway somewhere. By the time he ducked back into the school, the hem of his coat was wet with dew and caked with mud. He hurried along the corridor, but stopped dead in his tracks at the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

Severus Snape blocked the entrance to the Slytherin common room, his arms folded tight across his chest and black eyes staring down his hooked nose at the muddy boy in front of him.

"Sleepwalking again, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape drawled. "I can probably mix up a tonic to fix that problem for you."

Draco had been enjoying himself so much and he did not want to deal with his Professor's mood-crushing ability right then. He tried to shove past the much brawnier man, but was unsuccessful. "Don't test me, boy."

The boy's head shot up, "I'm not a _boy_. I've seen things, done things, you wouldn't _believe_!"

Snape arched a black eyebrow, "Oh, really? Try me."

He grabbed the blonde by the nape of his neck and push-pulled him down the hallway until they reached Snape's quarters. He pushed the young Slytherin onto the overstuffed couch before disappearing into the kitchen and reappearing five minutes later with a plate of toast and a pot of coffee. He set them down on the black coffee table and conjured two mugs. In his own mug, he splashed a shot of Firewhisky beneath the hot, black coffee.

"Professor, I'm really tired. May I just go to bed?" Draco leaned slightly away from the table and from Snape.

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you left the school in the middle of the night. Now eat. And when you're done, I'd love it if you could tell me the thrilling tales of all those things you've done that you don't think I'd believe." Snape's voice dripped with honeyed sarcasm.

**Author's Note: Thanks to my awseome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. Thank you to my reviewers.**

**Please be good to yourselves!**


	7. Firewhiskey

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, and self-injury. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter Six – Firewhisky**

The simplistic room filled with the smell of hot coffee and slightly burnt toast, Snape brought out some butter and jam, placing them pointedly beside the thick slices of bread. Grey steam rose in delicate tendrils from the two mugs of coffee.

Maybe it wasn't his brightest idea, but it seemed like a damn good idea at the time when Snape reached over to Draco's mug of coffee and splashed in a hefty dose of Firewhisky. The elder of the two hoped that the alcohol would induce honesty, or at least supply the poor boy's body with some necessary calories and warmth. He leaned back in his black leather chair and put his own mug to his thin lips, a challenge in his eyes.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Draco grasped the blue-handled mug, ignoring the heat searing through his fingertips and sloshed a gulp of the vile concoction down his throat. It burnt a path of fire down his esophagus. A cough rattled up his chest, a cough he fought and failed to dispel or hide. He screwed his lips together for a moment, before taking another hearty swig. Black coffee was safe and, hell, he'd probably need to be at least a little bit drunk to deal with his infuriating professor.

Snape smirked for the briefest of moments, then nodded toward the table, "Toast, too."

Draco coughed again, eyes watering a bit, "No thanks."

Snape pursed his lips, "It was not a question. You _will_ have some toast."

Draco selected the most burnt piece and brushed off the charred bits. He ignored the stick of golden butter and jars of pink and purple jams on the table. His thumb absently crumbled a corner of the bread as he sank his teeth into a miniscule bite.

He chewed slowly, pointedly, watching the Potions Master. He said nothing as he ate. Bite after silent bite.

Between each tiny bite, he took a swig of coffee. When Snape refilled his mug, he made sure to add more Firewhisky than he had before.

By the time Draco had finished that single piece of toast, he had gone through three cups of coffee and Firewhisky. His limbs felt a bit loose and his thoughts tumbled about a little in his head.

Snape took a loud sip from his mug, "Where were you, Draco?"

"Out flying," Draco's consonants had softened like the warm butter on the table.

"Flying?" A small portion of Snape's mind was impressed, another portion tried to calculate how many calories that burned. "I thought you quit the team?"

"Can still fly." Draco poured his fourth mug, this one with more Firewhisky than coffee.

"Of course." Snape watched his student drink, oddly pleased. "Why do you fly?"

The boy shrugged, "'s nothin' better to do."

His words may have softened and his eyes may have had struggled focusing, but Draco was still a careful drunk. He still had some control over what he said. Snape realized that any more Firewhisky on such little food would not help anyone, so he took the bottle of the table and stashed it behind his chair.

"You aren't doing well."

Draco did not contradict the statement.

"When," Severus Snape cleared his throat; he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to the question he was about to ask, "when did this start?"

Draco opened his mouth, the exact date and events on his tongue, but he brushed them away with a shrug and a dismissive, "Last year."

"Do you realize that you're starving yourself?" Snape leant forward intently.

The boy wouldn't meet his eyes; he just sipped quickly at the hot mug, like a butterfly sipping nectar.

"Do you realize that you're killing yourself?"

"D'you realize it doesn't matter?" Draco countered.

"Wh-what?" Snape was genuinely confused.

"I've no future, I've no friends," Draco shrugged. His voice was not bitter, just accepting. "It doesn't matter if I live or die."

"But it does!" Snape burst out. He cursed himself for having some of the Firewhisky himself; he did not want his student to think things of him that he shouldn't. "_Life_ matters! _Living_ matters! Don't you see?"

"No, I don't see and I don't want to see." The boy pulled his robes closer around himself. "I've found my place in the world and I'm quite content to waste away in it."

Snape didn't know what to say so he busied himself with tossing the boy a thick, black blanket and starting a fire in the dusty fireplace with a wave of his wand. The flames emitted a foul smoke for a moment, burning away old residue.

Snape watched the flames, not the boy, "You're hardly in a fit state to return to your rooms now. Get some sleep."

"This is pointless. Stupid." The boy fought sleep. "What are you trying to prove?"

"That there's hope in this world."

"And if there's not?" Draco cocked his head to one side. "What then?"

"Then…then you die."

"And?" The blonde's eyelids were fluttering, Snape wondered if it was the coffee or just pure exhaustion that was making the boy so tired.

"Believe it or not, you would be missed," Snape looked hard at the boy, willing him to see the truth in his words. "We all exist for a reason. We all exist to do something with our lives. Something that may seem meaningless, or unimportant, but, in the grand scheme of things, is magnificent." _Something like saving a poor, starving boy. _He mused to himself.

The boy's eyes were closed long before Snape had finished speaking, his head nodded as he breathed, unable to fight the throes of sleep. The older man took the empty mug from his student's hands and transfigured the couch into a feather-soft bed and pulled another black blanket onto the slightly shivering boy. He was glad that the next day was Saturday, that way neither of them would have to struggle through classes. He himself hadn't had that much to drink, but he expected the boy would be pretty damn hungover. Besides, he would have two days – six meals – to try to start to physically mend the boy.

With one last glance at the sleeping figure, Snape went to his own chamber and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

**Author's Note: Thanks to my awseome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. Thank you to my reviewers.**

**Please be good to yourselves!**


	8. Breakfast

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, and self-injury. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter Seven – Breakfast (Parts I and II)**

Morning came quickly and painfully to Draco, bringing with it a blinding light. Memories of the night before were dim and slippery and it took a lot of effort to wrestle them into the forefront of his mind. He vaguely recalled something or other about the meaning of life **a**nd he also remembered that he was not asleep in his own quarters or bed. He did not remember getting into this bed, though, was it Snape's bed? No, it was in the room with the fireplace and bookshelf, the room where he and his professor had had coffee the night before. The bed was not his and it was not Snape's but he found it didn't really matter whose it was, just that it was gloriously soft and strangely warm.

The quick part of his brain, the part that had been awakened by the sudden pain in his head, considered going back to sleep in this lovely, little bed. The other part of his brain, the slow, logical part, demanded that Draco get out of bed right then and get out before Snape woke up.

As if on command of Murphy's Law, Snape stepped through the door, carrying a steaming tray of food. "Ah, I see you're up."

Draco mumbled the first thing that came to his head that was not a swear word, "What time is it?"

"Half past six. Here, eat this, it'll help your headache." He placed the tray on Draco's lap. It contained a tall glass of orange juice and a wide bowl of steaming soup. Draco poked timidly at the soup**;** it seemed to be made of a rather watery base and contained mostly green vegetables with the odd, small chunk of chicken.

Snape watched Draco's examination of the stew, "It's not much, but I figured both you and your body could handle it."

"Soup for breakfast?" Draco attempted to sneer past the pounding of his head.

"Figured it'd be easier for you than eggs and bacon and nicer than porridge."

"No thanks." Draco pushed the bowl away and laid back down on the bed.

"Draco," there was something in Snape's tone, something in his eyes, that captured Draco, preventing him from staring at the wall, "it's either you eat this or I send you to the hospital wing where Madame Pomfrey will pump you full of who-knows-what and you won't have any say or control."

Draco sat up at little, "And that's different from here how?"

"You've still got some say here."

"Well," Draco dug into the soup violently, "I say that I hate potatoes." He dumped several of the white chunks onto the tray.

"Dully noted," Snape drawled. "No more potatoes."

Draco ate the hot soup slowly, until almost all of it had settled into his stomach. His professor had been right: it did help his headache immensely. He shied away from more than a few sips of the orange juice, though, claiming that acidic foods didn't really suit his stomach.

He was just sitting up when suddenly he stiffened. Something was wrong. He felt overly full for the food he had eaten and his head started to feel fuzzy. He rocked back and forth for a moment before bolting to the bathroom.

The hot soup was less than pleasant coming back up and it burned his aching throat in a greenish-brown torrent. He heaved violently into the toilet bowl, his whole body shuddering. He heard a muttered "Shit!" behind him, then felt warm hands on his shoulders, steadying him and holding back his hair.

Draco coughed and spit into the bowl, wiping the residue from his lips and washing his face and hands in the sink. He turned abruptly as Snape started speaking behind him, "I'm sorry. I thought I could trick some extra calories into you. I guess it was too much for your body."

"Never," he hissed, "do that to me again. _Ever_."

"It was for your own good." Snape called after him as he stomped out of the bathroom.

"You're right," Draco whirled on his professor, "it _was_ very good for me to be puking my guts up first thing in the morning. It was such a great start to my day. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be going now."

As he reached for the door, a latch clicked in place and would not budge as Draco tried to move it. "You will not be going anywhere, Draco. " Draco whirled around to glare at Snape, but the older man merely smirked at him.'How about we try breakfast again? You can watch me make it to be sure I don't put anything bad in it –even though I promise I won't."

"Oh joy!" Draco muttered as he followed Snape to the kitchens.

Snape scrambled up three eggs whites and one egg yolk despite Draco's protests. He added in a bit of salt and some chopped bell peppers. For himself, he slathered two pieces of toast in a thick layer of butter and raspberry jam.

Draco picked at the eggs. "I still feel like I've eaten, y'know. I'm still full."

"Well, you're not. So eat." After a laborious pause filled with soft chewing, Snape couldn't help but ask, "Have you ever done that before? On purpose, I mean?"

"Hm?" Draco nibbled a bit of red pepper. Snape gestured sticking two fingers down his throat and heaving. "Oh. That," Draco waved his fork dismissively. "That's not really my thing."

"But you have done it?" Snape seemed intent on getting an answer.

Draco looked up, brows furrowed, "Yeah. I've 'done it'."

"Why'd you stop?"

"I told you," Draco was beginning to get annoyed, "it's not really my thing."

"So what is 'your thing'?" Draco couldn't tell if Snape was mocking him or not.

"Don't ask me questions you already know the answers to." Draco looked around the kitchen, "Got any coffee?"

Snape conjured up a steaming pot and poured his student a mug. "So…starving is your thing."

"Yeah, I guess," Draco shrugged and sipped his coffee.

"Why?"

"'s nothing better to do."

"How do you feel when you don't eat?" Snape poured himself a mug of coffee as well.

"I don't." Draco almost smiled. "That's the thing. It numbs me. Makes me powerful and takes away the hurt."

"What hurt?" Snape asked the question gingerly, afraid of shattering the stream of truth coming from the child.

"My father's in prison, everyone hates me, no one trusts me, there's nothing left for me, and…and…." Draco bit his lip, his eyes becoming suddenly moist.

"And?" Snape prodded gently.

"And I've seen things, done things, _terrible things_. You know." Draco choked back a sob. "You know, you know. You saw it all, did what you did, how do you do it?" He was sobbing hard now, loudly. "How do you just go through life anymore? How do you live with yourself? How do you get up in the morning and look at your face in the mirror and know what you've done and just _accept _that?"

Snape put a comforting hand on Draco's shoulder, the boy turned and pressed his teary face against his professor's chest, still sobbing.

"Shh," Snape soothed, "shh. I get through like everyone else. One day at a time. Some days are harder than others, but hell, I know I'm worth something. I know I'm worth living for. And you are, too, you just have got to start believing that."

"I-I can't," Draco blubbered.

"Yes, you can. I'm here to help you. We'll get through this together. Come on," he patted the sniveling boy on the back, "How about you finish your breakfast?"

Draco sat up and swiped angrily at his red eyes, glancing at Snape's tearstained robes, "Sorry."

Snape waved his wand and the wet spot was gone. "Eat up."

Draco didn't finish the eggs, but he ate almost half of them and Snape considered it an improvement so he let it go.

**Author's Note: Thanks to my awseome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. Thank you to my reviewers. So I'm out of pre-written chapters, so there will no longer be updates every week - they'll come when they come.**

**Please be good to yourselves!**


	9. Shards

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, and self-injury. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter Eight – Shards**

There was one question still on Snape's mind as he watched the child eat. He was torn, one part of him wanted to ask the question so badly, but the other part of him knew that right then was an extremely inopportune time. The question came from the way the boy would look at neither Snape nor the food as he ate, the way he only took small bites, hardly seeming to taste them, and quickly chased them down with long sips of coffee. It came from the lowering of his eyelids, the pursing of his lips, the twitching of his shoulders. The question nearly burned through Snape as he watched the boy, but he refused to ask it. Not then, not while the boy was eating.

The boy finished eating eventually, pushing away his plate with a sullen finality. Snape, long done, cleared the table and washed the dishes, acutely aware of the boy's presence behind him. He nearly had to bite his tongue to keep the question too himself; it was still too soon, he ought to let the boy digest some more.

Once the dishes were clean, Snape led Draco to a new room. It was a library, much larger than any of the other rooms. Rich, warm light seemed to seep from the very walls. Shelves coated the four walls, floor to ceiling, stuffed to the brim with books. The room also contained four overstuffed, mismatched chairs and a stained coffee table.

Snape crouched down next to one of the shelves, running his long fingers over the spines of the leatherbound books before hovering over one certain book. Snape pulled if off the shelves and straightened, revealing it to be a Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook that had seen many readers. He handed it to the boy, "Though I'm not sure of how much need you'll have for this information anymore, you'll need to get caught up on your schoolwork. You'll do some extra credit for me this afternoon."

Draco lugged the large book to one of the chairs and set to reading. It was dull and, as Snape had implied, nearly pointless now that You Know Who had been vanquished. As he generally did when faced with a tedious task, Draco wished to be flying, but Snape watched him from across the room from over the top of an unmarked, black book.

Time passed, neither Snape nor Draco could say how much, but eventually Snape decided that enough time had passed, Draco's body had digested enough calories, for him to ask his question. "What, um," he began hesitantly, "what is eating like for you?"

"Gross. Pointless." Draco idly flipped a page.

"Is that it?" Snape's eyebrows rose.

Draco shrugged. "Food's just not appealing anymore. I don't like what it does to me."

"You make it sound so simple," Snape was mystified.

"It is simple, old man," Draco drawled, almost good naturedly. "I know food can't make me happy, it only makes me f-" his lips formed the rest of the word, but no sound came from his mouth.

"Fat." Snape supplied. "Why's it hard for you to say 'fat'?"

"I don't know. I don't like to be it, I don't like to say it, I don't like to see it."

"What is fat to you?" Snape closed his book and leaned intently forward.

"Stuff that's not being used, I guess," Draco said slowly. "Not bone, not muscle. Space that shouldn't be taken up."

"Are you fat?"

"Are you?" Draco countered, rising to his feet. "I need to use the loo."

Snape watched him go sadly, knowing he had pushed to far.

The white sink was cold, biting into Draco's suddenly too hot skin. He stared into the mirror. How could that insolent professor ask such a stupid question? Of course he was fat. He was the biggest waste of space in the world. He was worse than an ignorant muggle. And on top of that, his cheeks were too soft, his eyes too puffy, his clothes didn't mask his body well enough for him – he hated it. His fingertips throbbed painfully with the hot, angry thrusts of his heart. His mind, shoulders, chest, stomach, throat, legs, spine, hands ached with a mixture of fury, hate, and exhaustion.

Draco grabbed the closest object, a glass soap dish, and hurled it against the far wall in a blind rage. The dish shattered into several long, thin pieces. It felt good to destroy his Professor's belongings. Draco sank to his knees and lifted up one of the green-blue shards. It nearly glowed in the fluorescent lighting. One side was razor sharp.

He curled the glass in his fist and pressed his head onto his knees, letting the edge bite into his palm until it drew blood. He hated his body. He hated himself. He hated everything. The fat needed to go. Maybe then, he'd be better. Maybe he could stand himself then.

He rolled up his dark pants high until he could reach his thighs. Shaking uncontrollably, he pressed the broken glass to his skin and drew lines of blood up his leg. Again and again. He tigerstriped his leg red and white, letting his blood and badness and fat seep out onto the cold floor. The shakes quieted and he leaned his head back on the wall, breathing hard.

There was a knock, "Are you okay?"

"Sod off."

"Come on out."

"I'd rather not," Draco closed his eyes, feeling almost drugged, "the company here's much classier."

"Funny." Snape did not sound amused. "Come out or I will burst the door down."

Somehow, Draco could tell that it was not an empty threat. He rolled his pantleg down over his still slowly-bleeding leg and wiped the smears of blood off the floor before slowly opening the door.

"I'm sorry," Snape's eyes were sincere.

"Whatever."

"Really. I am sorry."

"I don't care," Draco shoved past him and into the library where he picked up the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. Even reading that boring book was better than talking to his infuriating professor. Although he wasn't really reading, his mind was too focused on the glorious traces of fire roaring up and down his leg. It was the first time he had ever done that. He had heard of people doing that all the time, hurting themselves intentionally, but never before had he seen the appeal to it. But the ache of his leg was glorious.

Snape was about to close the bathroom door when he happened to glance in and saw his soap dish broken on the floor. He thought nothing of it and moved to clean up it, so distracted by the boy's behavior that he didn't even think to use magic, until he lifted up a particular piece of glass that was coated in blood.

He cursed himself to hell and back. He should have figured the boy would resort to something like this; didn't they all?

**Author's Note: So I'm wicked sorry about yesterday, I posted chapter nine because I thought I had already posted this. Chapter nine will be up again on probably Sunday or Monday. Thanks for all the amazing reviews.**

**Please be good to yourselves.**


	10. Never Enough

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, and self-injury. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter Nine - Never Enough**

Professor Snape strode in long steps back to the library, angry. He wasn't angry so much with the boy, but with himself and even more so than that, he was angry with the sick, twisted parts of people's minds that made them want to do such terrible things to themselves. Whether it was starving, puking or even cutting, it was wrong for any person, no matter what they were going through, to feel the need to do that. He wanted to seep the painful parts of every person out of them, he wanted to take away the entire world's hurt.

What scared him most about the way he was treating the boy was that he knew he wasn't doing enough. He knew he'd need to think of something more or he would not make a difference in a young soul's life. Again.

It had been a long time since his years as a student at Hogwarts, but not nearly long enough to erase the memories or even make them fade. Still sharp in his mind was the feel of the cold bathroom floor beneath his knees, the feel of Lily Evans's coarse hair as he held it back for her, the sounds of her retching echoing up and down the bathroom stalls. Countless stalls. He couldn't remember how many times he'd seen her scurry out of the Great Hall, how many times he'd pushed his plate away to run after her, how many times he looked her friends and teachers in the eyes and said, "She isn't feeling well." He had protected her secret for three years, and then had left her on her own after graduation. He had never stopped caring, but it was just too much pain to see her with that Potter. They had kept up light correspondences so he knew that even at the time of her death, he was the only one who knew of her problem.

That was no way for a person to live. No way for a person to die. It was not fair. Severus Snape vowed to do something to change the course of things when it came to the Malfoy child. He vowed to find a way to heal him.

He stepped up to the boy in the chair, "Draco."

"What?" The boy glared at him and Severus was shocked to see slight red rims around the boy's eyes.

"I have a proposition for you."

Draco closed the textbook and watched his Professor silently.

"I will allow you to pass my class," Severus took a deep breath, knowing he was breaking all sorts of rules, "on the condition that you eat. And eat well."

The boy glared at him, "And if I should refuse?"

The older man shrugged, "In all likelihood, you probably won't pass and you probably will die."

Draco turned his head sharply away, sniffing suddenly. Still not looking at his professor, he rasped, "You make it sound so simple. Black and white. Eat or die. It's not like that at all, don't you see?" He turned to face the man then, his eyes over-bright. "It's not like that at all."

Snape sat across from him, "Well then, what is it like?"

"It's not as simple as food anymore, as eating," Draco's eyes implored Snape to understand. "If I eat, I've failed. I'm not _worth_ food. It's not worth it to live. But then, of course, why am I still here? Why have I not stopped myself from living if it's not worth it? Is there really some part of me that wants to live?" Draco drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Yes. Yes, there is. There is a part of me that wants to fight to stay in the world; I don't know how big or small, but a part of me nonetheless, that does want to live. A part of me that wants to be able to eat. A part that wants to be able to function. A part that wants to be happy again. And, yeah, things would be black in white if I had just one of those parts - the one that wants to die or the one that wants to live - but no, I have both, and so I'm stuck here in this hellish limbo." He finished, his face damp from the odd tear that had seeped out from his eyes.

Snape sat back, stunned into silence. Draco lowered his gaze to the fists he'd formed in his lap, "And there you go again. Looking at me like I'm some sort of abnormality, some sort of freak. That's the only way people look at me anymore."

"I'm sorry," Snape breathed.

"And that's all people say anymore. That is, if they're not too busy insulting me," Draco added bitterly.

"Draco," Snape swallowed, "I promise to help you. I will do everything in my power to get that part of you that wants to live to become the only part. I will do everything in my power to give that mind a healthy body to live in. I will do everything in my power to create a future for that mind and that body to coincide in. I promise that you will not go through this alone."

Draco trembled beneath the power of Snape's words.

"Now come," his Professor stood and offered him a hand, "let's see if we can work through lunch."

In the kitchen, Snape turned to his student, "Is there anything you want?"

Draco breathed for a moment, "Tea."

"Any food?" Snape tried not to let his irritation show.

Draco shook his blonde head.

"Is there anything you'd feel comfortable eating? Any safe foods?"

The phrase sounded foreign coming from his Professor's lips, "How do you know about safe foods?"

Snape waved his hand vaguely. "Have you got any?"

"Food's not...interesting to me anymore. It's not safe or dangerous...it's just useless." Draco murmured slowly.

"Alright," Snape turned to his refrigerator, "well, it's not useless. You need it. So let's see what I've got."

He finally settled on serving his student one slice of dry, whole grain toast and some raw vegetables. Draco selected three baby carrots, two broccoli florets, and a slice of cucumber from the assortment. The crack from when he bit into the carrots echoed around the room.

Snape watched him, slicing a piece of ham into tiny slivers and dipping it in yellow mustard. He understood bulimia, the binging and the purging, he got how that could be possible; but he couldn't understand anorexia, the restriction and the fasting, he knew it was not something which he could personally do. Whenever his body wanted food, he fed it. Sometimes he overfed it, and whereas he never purged, he could see the lure of it. And he really could see the lure of not eating though, especially with the sadistic way muggle magazines portrayed thinness, but he could never understand the terrible ability to utterly deny one's body of nutrients. He couldn't understand destroying oneself so greatly.

Draco pushed away his plate, the vegetables gone, the bread largely reduced to a pile of crumbs. He smirked at the porcelain, "Y'know, Professor, the trouble with most kids nowadays is that they don't eat their vegetables. Guess I don't have that problem."

Snape looked up sharply, had Draco just made a joke? About food? It had been so carefree, a smile broke across Snape's face and he had the sudden urge to ruffle Draco's hair. He decided that it was such an improvement he wouldn't mention that crumbling up food didn't constitute eating it.

**Author's Note: So sorry it took me so long to get this up. My computer officially crashed taking the chapters I had written with it. I'd love to know what you think. Thanks to my awesome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. Once again, sorry for the mixup last week. (Special note to the review posting under the name Draco: I agree and will try to do something to change that.)**

**Be good to yourselves, everybody.**


	11. Beats

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, and self-injury. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter Ten - Beats**

"Alright," Snape declared as he cleared the table and began washing the dishes in the sink. "I think it's time for us to go work in the Potions lab and see what we can do to make up what you've missed."

"But Professor," Draco rose slowly, "I thought you said I wouldn't have to...?"

Snape shrugged, "I guess I lied. Besides this information will be good for you to know."

Draco rolled his eyes, thinking "When will I ever need to know any of this?" But he followed Snape as he marched out of his rooms and into the Potions lab nonetheless. Snape stepped up to his desk and Draco seated himself at a table in the middle of the room.

The dark haired man gazed down at some notes on the desk, "Now, what can you tell me about what you're classmates have been doing?"

Draco stared unflinchingly at his professor, "Making potions, sir."

Snape sneered, but ignored the comment, "They have been brewing a potion for liquid death. Considering that you are not at your physical peak and that a handful of healthy students have already been sent to the Hospital Wing, I think you should start off on something less...volatile. How about," he drummed his fingers on the stack of papers,  
"some Deflating Draught? The second years are cooking up batches of Swelling Solution - or rather, they are making pitiful attempts at cooking up batches of Swelling Solution. I think I'll soon run out of my own stores of Deflating Draught because of their careless errors." Snape realized he was almost rambling and forced himself to a stop.

"Now here," he flipped a couple of pages in a worn book, "is the recipe. I assume you know where everything is. Go get to work."

Draco struggled to lug a cauldron onto the tabletop and stood there for many minutes after lighting it, his breathing ragged and his knuckles white on the table.

"You alright?" Snape glanced up.

Draco smirked, "Never better."

He carried out the potion slowly and deliberately. As he was chopping ingredients he glanced up, "You were Headmaster last year, weren't you?"

"That I was," Snape's baritone voice betrayed no emotion.

"So why are you Potions Master again? Why didn't you appoint yourself to the Defense Against the Dark Arts post? Or even Headmaster again?"

Snape didn't speak for a long time. "Do you know why I'm alive today? I did die when that snake bit me and it wasn't Defense Against the Dark Arts that brought me back. It was a potion - powerful and illegal. If it weren't for Potions I wouldn't even be here today. Besides," he shrugged, "I had gotten comfortable in this position."

Draco nodded and stirred the simmering contents of the cauldron, "Don't you miss that power?"

"Surprisingly there wasn't much power to miss. And there were far too many petty complaints - so many stupid students doing so many stupid things and they all would get sent to me. But of course, I suppose I must say that the stupid complaints were much better than my responsibilities regarding the protection of Hogwarts. These have not been good times to hold the position of Headmaster."

"Well," Draco ran his finger down the list of ingredients, "I must say I can picture you making an - entertaining disciplinarian."

"How so?"

"Well," Draco put the stirring rod down and look directly up at his professor. "You have a low stupidity tolerance and eventually that's got to come bursting out and in my experience when smart people get sick of stupid people, it's really fun to watch."

"What a cheery outlook," Snape grinned at his student, but found that the boy was no longer looking at him.

The blonde's eyes were unfocused and the first two fingers of his right hand were pressed hard against his collarbone. A bead of sweat formed on his pale forehead.

"Draco," Snape rose quickly, "are you alright?"

The boy did not respond.

"Draco," Snape called sharply descending towards the frail figure.

Draco turned his eyes to Snape slowly, his lips moving over words before he found his voice, "My heart - it hurts."

Snape reached out just in time and caught his elbow before the child sank to the floor. He picked up the tiny body and distinguished the flame beneath the cauldron before gliding gracefully out of his classroom, still carrying the boy.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey looked down at the pale figure in the hospital bed, "He will live, Severus, but he has done great damage to his body."

"What happened?"

The matronly witch neatened the bedsheets, "It wasn't heart failure, but he's darn close to that, too. It was just a fainting spell, a rough one at that."

She turned suddenly to face the Potions Professor, "How long have you known about his condition?"

"For sure? Less than a week."

"But you had suspicions prior to that?" Madam Pomfrey prodded.

"Yes. Ever since he came back to school."

"You do realize that his condition is very serious and his habits are, as you can see, life-threatening." It wasn't a question, nor was it an accusation - completely.

"Yes, but," Snape paused, "I think I can help him. I think - I may very well be the only one here who can help him. He's just a child and he's gone through such terrible things, Poppy. It's not just his body that needs healing, it's his mind, too. There's only so much you can do."

"All the same," she thrust out her chin, "the Headmaster and his parents must be notified of his condition - at the very least."

"Fine," Snape growled, "but no one else."

The witch regarded him coolly, "Now, Severus, I don't really think that that's your decision to make."

The dark haired professor just repeated in a level tone, "No one else."

"Hmph!" Madam Pomfrey pulled back her shoulders and marched out of the Hospital Wing. "I'm going to notify the Headmaster. Wait with the boy."

**Author's Note: Thanks to my awesome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. And thanks to all my awesome reviewers.**

**Please be good to yourselves.**


	12. Found Out

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, and self-injury. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter Eleven - Found Out**

Draco woke up to pain. Everything hurt. His head, his fingers, his lips, his bones and most of all, his heart. It wasn't a gentle throbbing nor a fierce piercing, but something in between, something constant and, if he put his mind to it, bearable. He squinted his eyes against the bright light that filtered from all around him and tried to ascertain where he was. Everything was pale and shimmering with light and the room was cool and clean. Groaning, he turned his head and saw a delicate, little tube attached to his arm.

"What is this?" He whispered more to himself than anyone else; his voice sounding raspy as it made its way through his chapped lips. He lifted his arm and his voice became more demanding, stronger, "What is this?" His eyes followed the tube up to a pouch that hung above his bed, it was filled with some sort of blue gel-like substance. He saw Madam Pomfrey with another student at the end of the room, he hollered at her, "What the _fuck_ is this?"

It was a stupid question. He knew exactly what it was. It was sugar and fat and calories and weakness being drained slowly into his body. He ripped the little tube away from his body, the needle slid out of his vein, coaxing out a tiny red drop. He had been found out; everything would all end now. He knew it, he'd be monitored and recorded and restrained and ordered around. He'd enter an entirely new circle of hell. Madam Pomfrey straightened up and the student, some wimpy first year who gazed at him with ill-concealed fear, rushed out of the hospital wing with barely a look back.

Draco hauled himself out of bed, ignored the pounding in his head and the darkening of his vision, forcing his body toward the exit. He imagined he looked somewhat like a one-legged ostrich, stumbling ungainly along; but he made it to the door and from the sounds of it Madam Pomfrey had just started bustling towards him. He surged through the door and into the corridor, momentarily beset by blindness and a roaring in his ears, but he still stumbled on down the stairs. His vision cleared and he hurried on toward the dungeons. He had planned on going to his bedroom and hiding out there, but for some reason he founds himself pushing into the Potions classroom.

"Professor?" His voiced echoed in the empty chambers.

.

Severus Snape marched down the walkway to Malfoy Manor. A house elf held the door open for him and he told it brusquely that he wanted to speak to Narcissa. The little creature led him to a grand sitting room where a fire blazed brightly in the hearth. Severus settled himself into a dark green, high-backed armchair and waited.

A little while later, he was still sitting with his long fingers wrapped around the armrests, his knuckles white. Just then the door creaked open and in trotted two sleek, grey hunting dogs followed by a rigidly held and made up woman. Severus knew her well enough to see that, even under the glamour spell she had cast, her skin was drawn and pale, dark circles hung below her eyes.

"Narcissa," Severus stood and extended his arms. "It's good to see you."

She clasped his hands strongly, her voice was breathy, "And you, Severus."

There was an uneven set of footsteps and a thin, haggard man stepped into the room. His clean-shaven cheekbones were pronounced in his face, framed by long, pale gold hair. He leaned heavily on a cane, but he visibly straightened at he sight of the dark haired man.

"Lucius?" Severus faltered. "I thought you were…."

"I was," the pale man sat down neatly, the dogs settling near his feet. "But, Severus, it's as I keep telling you; money enables you to do anything you want to...withoutconsequences." He smirked, then glanced away. "I regret some things that transpired, some of my actions, so that helped, too. But it really was the money."

Severus shifted, "When were you let out?"

"Oh, just yesterday," Lucius waved his hand airily. "The papers will run the story tomorrow. I imagine it'll be quite the scandal."

"Have you told Draco?" Severus leaned forward. Lucius shrugged.

"We haven't told anyone. We intend to stay out of public eye for a while, until this settles down a bit."

"Not even your only son?" Narcissa fluttered her hand to her throat.

"Why are you here, Severus? Is Draco alright?" Severus swallowed and drew a breath, preparing himself to deliver the news.

"I'm sure he's fine," Lucius's voice was hard and clipped. "Leave us, Narcissa; Severus and I have much catching up to do." Narcissa rose without a word and left the room, her pale dress catching her motion like tentative wings. Severus's hand twitched, as if to pull her back in, but instead he turned to look at the man of the manor.

Lucius leaned back and regarded Severus coolly, "I didn't think the lady needed to hear what you are going to say. I can deal with it justly and without such feminine qualms. What has my son done?"

"He is…sick, Lucius."

"Then why have you come to me? Why not an owl from the school, the Headmaster, or that Pomfrey woman? What is actually wrong with him?" Lucius's eyes wre sharp and attentive.

"He is…destroying himself. He starves himself to the point where he can't even stand up anymore and then he goes and takes his broom to go flying. Just last night he passed out while working with me on a Potion. If he continues, he will die." Lucius clenched his eyes shut and swore.

"What can I do?"

"Be his father. Guide him; he's lost right now," Severus's voice was emotionless, it did not betray the aching of his heart. He had wanted to be the one the save the boy, he had wanted to be the one to make him whole again; but it was no longer his place. "Come see him." Severus rose slowly, his arm crooked in invitation. Lucius creaked out of the chair, running a hand over his tired face.

"The Dark Lord, Azkaban, and now this? I'm too old for this, Severus." The dark-haired wizard narrowed his eyes at the blonde.

"And your son is too young to be so utterly destroyed."

**Author's Note: Thanks to my awesome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. And thanks to all my awesome reviewers.**

**Please be good to yourselves.**


	13. Cold Heart

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, self-injury, and other eating disorders. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

Chapter Twelve: Cold

Green flames roared up in the fireplace of the Hospital Wing and out stepped Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy in all their dark, cloak-billowing splendor. Madam Pomfrey glanced up at the pair, then back to the student she was tending, a blonde third-year with her face buried in a bucket, her shoulders heaving.

Severus cast his eyes around the slick, clean corners of the room, but did not see Draco Malfoy anywhere. He strode over to Madam Pomfrey, fingers tingling with the urge to haul her up by the collar of her robes and glare into her face, instead he rasped, his voice low and fierce, "Where is the boy?"

The short witch looked up at Severus, her dark eyes sparking, "He is _not_ the only student in my charge. You wanted to give him the individual attention he needs, so go do it!"

Severus gaped for a moment, but came to his senses in time to put a restraining hand on Lucius Malfoy's chest as he raised his newly constructed duplicate silver cane and opened his Pureblood mouth.

"Come," he told the pale man, "we have to go find your son. There's time do deal with her later."

The two men marched out of the Hospital Wing with great alacrity, their black cloaks flying out behind them. Their long, sinuous shadows stretched across the walls, dark and intent.

* * *

Draco was sitting on the floor, pressing his forehead into the hot wall next to the fireplace. His heart clattered with nervous excitement; he didn't know where Snape was, but he knew he'd be back eventually. He didn't quite know why, but part of him just ached to see him again. To talk to him. To argue with him. A very, very small part of him even wanted Snape to try to force him to eat. It felt so good to have someone care.

When he heard footsteps outside the door, he moved gracefully to his feet - until he was able to distinguish that it was not just one set of footsteps but two, then all of his grace left him and he scrambled around the room looking for somewhere to hide. He spotted a likely looking cupboard and clambered on inside.

It was cramped inside the cupboard, Draco's knees were pressed tight against his chest and chin, he could feel the cramps in his necks already begin to knit together, it would be hellish tomorrow morning. But despite that, he was confident in the capability of his hiding space.

The door to Snape's chambers swung open and the two sets of footsteps marched in. He heard the rustle of fabric and the sigh of seats as the two people sat down.

"Where could he be?" The first voice was Snape's, of that Draco was sure.

"How should I know." Draco's breath caught in his throat and a cold feeling spread from his heart. He knew the second voice, too. Without a doubt he knew the second voice too.

"He's your son."

"Have you got anything to drink?"

The clink of glasses settled into the background of Draco's mind and a loud roaring took over. Dark spots appeared in his vision and he realized he was hyperventilating. He tried to slow down his breathing, make it more even, more quiet.

What the hell was his father doing here at Hogwarts? Draco knew he'd been found out and probably put on official record of some sort, but did they really have to go get his parents? After all, he was a legal adult. And more than that, what was his father doing out of Azkaban? These questions swirled around Draco's head like angry bees.

Okay, he told himself as he tried to calm down, so his father was out of Azkaban and here at Hogwarts. That wasn't so bad, was it? Except there was so much bad about that. Why hadn't he been told that his father was going to be released? Was he really worth that little to his family?

The little ball of warmth and excitement that had huddled in Draco's chest as he had waited for Severus had long since vanished and instead a stony coldness filled every part of him. The more he thought about his father and the ramifications thereof, the less he cared and the more his mind wandered to food and how much he would eat for dinner. It wasn't much; he decided on some vegetables he liked. Although maybe not. Vegetables could be dangerous, they could trigger a binge. Fatty. No food. He would relish that. The glorious, constant rumblings of his stomach. The pain. The aching of his throat. The darkness behind his eyes. That's what he deserved. He would take it. He would enjoy it. It was his only option.

He was done. He didn't want to hear any more. He just wanted to go to sleep. Wake up tomorrow hungry. Not eat. Go to bed hungry. To starve until he died.

But he couldn't. If he left the cupboard now both Severus and his father would see him. They would talk to him. There would be questions. Horrid questions and horrid answers and horrid stares. And they would make him eat. They would stuff him full until he could not hold any more then they would drip the fat into him through tiny needles and little bags. He would swell, he would be weak, he would be worse than worthless.

He couldn't let that happen. He had to hide. Had to protect himself. He kept silent and settled his bony back against the walls of the cupboard to wait the night out.

Draco dozed. Reality filtered in and out of his subconsciousness - or what it his consciousness? The crackling of the fire was loud. And warm. And almost comforting. He heard the conversation slow and slur. Footsteps again. A jar being opened. Was that a goodbye? The roar of the flames nearly drowning out his father's cry of "Malfoy Manor!". The flames died down; he could almost see the golden tongues subsiding. He thought he heard Severus swear, but of that he could not be certain. The lights were doused and one set of footsteps left the room.

Draco felt like it took him an eternity to move and stretch and untangle himself from the cupboard. He slithered in the dark, down the slick stone walls to his room. His bed was empty, cold, waiting just for him. He gave in and slept. He went to bed hungry...just like he planned.

**Author's Note: Thanks to my awesome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. Please review!**


	14. Played

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, self-injury, and other eating disorders. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter Thirteen - Played**

Sleep did not come easily to Professor Severus Snape; he had only just barely dozed off when he awoke to the sun shining into his room. The way the dew was settling on the grass and the crisp leaves were sighing across the ground promised it would be a nice day - probably the last nice day in a long time; winter was quickly setting in. He readied himself with haste, feeling a hard lump in his throat that, if he hadn't known any better, he would have called fear or nervousness. He wanted - no, he _needed_ - to find Draco today. That morning. Immediately. His other students be damned.

He whisked out of his rooms and down the dungeon corridors. He stopped outside the entrance to the Slytherin common rooms and waited. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes intent on the door, his eyes skimming the faces jostling on out until he caught sight of one dark face.

"Zabini," he barked.

The dark boy turned and moved toward his professor, trepidation writing across his brow. "Sir?"

"Malfoy. Have you seen him?" Severus clenched his fists to hide the shaking of his fingertips.

"'Course," the Slytherin looked baffled. "He was still asleep when we left just now."

Severus closed his eyes for a moment, relief sweeping through him. He turned back to the tall boy. "Thank you. Now go."

Blaise paused, "Sir. Draco is my friend. I care about him too."

Severus paused for a beat, then another, and another. "Well, good on you, boy. He needs more people like you."

The Potions Professor waited until the trickle of students in the hallway slowed then stopped completely. Then, without ceremony, he marched in to the Slytherin common rooms and down the room Draco and the other seventh year boys shared. Although, Severus mused, technically they were eighth years, but really that was just a technicality as they were learning the seventh year curriculum.

He paused for a breath and a second to ready himself outside of Draco's room, tried to steady his heart rate, then swung the door open, confident as hell.

Draco was a small, huddled lump beneath mounds of blankets. His eyes twitched nervously beneath his lids and his breathing was ragged and shallow. Dark hollows rested below his cheekbones and under his eyes, his lips were thin, tense, and chapped.

"Draco," Severus intoned, trying to draw him slowly from his slumber. "Draco, you need to wake up."

With a jerk, the boy's eyes flew open and swept rapidly about the room. He blinked hard when he saw Severus and slurred, "What're you doing here?"

Severus planted his feet, "Where were you yesterday?"

"Around," there was something like venom - or betrayal - in Draco's eyes.

"You need to go back to the Hospital Wing. Your body is not well."

The figure beneath the blankets shrunk away from Severus's voice, curling around some small, central point of warmth and life and anger.

"Sod off!" Draco's voice was like a crack of lightning on a dark night. "I saw you yesterday. I saw you with him! Were they going to tell me? Were _you_ going to tell me?"

Severus swore and sat down heavily on the corner of Draco's bed, his head in his hands. "I'm sorry. I would have told you."

"No, I know how these things work. If I hadn't gone missing and you had to come here, you just would have avoided me all day until I found it out through some dumbs student. And _then _you would have come to find me with some fantastical bullshit about how you had meant to be the first one to tell me." Draco shook his head. "I've been played before, old man, I know how it goes down."

"You just want an excuse to hate me," Severus sneered.

"Don't make this about you. Why the hell are you here anyway?"

"You just vanished yesterday! I had to make sure you were still alive! Please understand I was - and am - actually worried about you," Severus implored, flattening out the palms of his hand, empty, nonthreatening.

"Bollocks." Draco laid back down and pulled his blankets back over his head.

Severus reached over and hauled Draco out by his neck, shoving him out of the bed and towards the dresser. "Put your robes on. You have class in twenty minutes. I expect to see you there."

The door slammed shut behind the professor, making a sound like a little-used church bell. Draco stood on the floor, leaning hard against the dresser. The hatred that had warmed his body was weakening, the anger was slipping, the malice was losing its hold. Another feeling started to emanate from his bones, his belly, his brain, his heart. Craving.

He yanked open the dresser.

As Severus prepared his lesson he suddenly felt old. He had felt tired before, and sick, but never _old_. This feeling seeped from the very marrow of his bones. It tore through his body and he sat aching, wishing he had never cast a second glance at the boy. He wished he was just waiting a few more years at an old, easy teaching job before a good, old retirement. But no, he had to be dragged into this boy's web of problems. He had to care.

He felt alive as well, though. Shaking fingertips, sweating, nervousness, his heartbeat constantly accelerated, it all made him feel alive, but oh so old.

His students began to file in sometime later and he passed a weary hand over his eyes. Ribbons of tension connected his two shoulder blades and his knuckles were white, veins and spider-thin bones peeping through his skin. He checked off students in his head, some with regret, most with indifference.

The bell was about to toll when _he_ walked in. No, walked would have been the wrong word. He _sauntered_. That was it. A saunter. In his hand was a large, bloodred apple - a gaping hole revealed soft, pale flesh. The boy's hand carried the apple gracefully to his mouth again, his teeth sank into the fruit's flesh, and Severus could have sworn the entire class moved slightly at the sound of the crunch. The ribbons in Severus's back snapped, the furrows on his brow relaxed, and he waved his wand at the board, easily bringing up the class notes, turning his back to the boy as he settled himself in his seat.

**Author's Note: Thanks to my awesome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. Please review!**


	15. Crave

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, self-injury, and other eating disorders. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**I am rather concerned about this chapter, I believe it could be especially triggering so, please, if you think you might be triggered stop now. **

**I am also not sure about this chapter in terms of the scheme of this story. Lots of feedback would be appreciated.**

**Chapter Fourteen - Crave**

Severus Snape was riding through the day on autopilot. He knew it could quickly become problematic but his mind just couldn't fathom thinking about all those little trivial things when he remembered the way Draco had defiantly eaten the apple. A tiny drop of juice had hovered on the corner of his mouth and he had flicked a delicate, lazy tongue out to catch the sweet droplet. He had embodied grace. Severus was drawn again and again to that image. It was a safe harbor, it sounded the peace treaty in his head that was calling "He's eating of his own volition. He's okay. You can leave well enough alone now."

He almost did. For the first half of the day, he exulted in what he thought of as freedom. It was refreshing. His classes didn't matter, he'd be gone soon, none of his students needed him anymore. The freedom boiled in his blood - turning into happiness and excitement. Severus felt absolutely boyish and giddy. He was overcome with the sudden urge to run outside and fly, run or even spin beneath the golden red trees. Dignity was the only thing which kept his body locked inside the dungeons; his mind was not so caged - it soared and swooped and dove. Draco was well. Severus was free.

The bubbly intoxication followed Severus as he strolled down the hallways to the Great Hall for lunch. He felt on top of the world, like he could do anything. The students' loud clamor which usually annoyed him now sounded like celebration, the excitement that rested itself in his body as well. He seated himself, happy and ready for what the meal would bring.

x

Draco arrived on time. Not early, not late. Very precise and calculated. He sat neatly, melting back into the spot he had long since abandoned. No one at the Slytherin table seemed to notice that he had suddenly come back to meals. Zabini threw a word or two of welcome in his general direction, but everything just felt suffocatingly normal. Someone jostled into the seat across from Draco and chirped, "Happy Halloween." He supposed that yes, it was Halloween, he'd been at school long enough for that holiday to come around again. Good, this would be even more perfect. Draco plastered a half-smile, half-smirk on his face and waited for the food to appear.

And appear it did. Maybe it was because he had been so studiously ignoring it for so long, or maybe for some reason the food was just suddenly better that day, but either way to Draco's eyes, it was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. Meats sprung up on platters, tender and hot; breads eased steam out of their thick crusts, pumpkin juice filled his goblet, thick and sweet.

Draco piled his plate high, his eyes on the head table. The smirk on his face grew less forced when he saw Snape. The poor old fool looked different; more relaxed, happier, his face was smoother, more open. He even let loose a smile or two in discussion with the other professors. What a gullible old coot, Draco thought to himself as he picked up a chicken leg.

It was hot, juicy, and flavorful. It was simultaneously disgusting and delicious. He wanted to throw it away and he wanted to have it never end, constantly have the flesh be falling apart beneath his teeth. It was agonizingly beautiful, but he'd show that damn Potions professor. He'd convince that horrid old man that he was perfectly fine and normal.

x

Severus glanced over every so often to see the boy's eyes on his: proud and fierce. There was fight inside his soul again and it was magical, perfect. He watched the food Draco consumed, it was a lot, but the boy hadn't eaten for a while - really eaten, at least - Severus was glad for the nutrients that were flowing into his body.

They both left the Great Hall - each floating on his own particular high. Severus glided through his classes, exact precise and vigorous. Draco attended his classes, but his fingers scratched the desk in anticipation. Dinner would be even richer, when he'd put the topping on the cake. He'd show Severus just how well he was. He would eat - oh, what would he eat? The possibilities of the answer to the question delighted him. He would eat ham, yes, lots of ham. Maybe some lamb. And potatoes, gorgeous little vegetables. He'd slather them in gravy and wipe up the rest with thick slices of bread. He'd have pudding, too, and maybe some cake. Thick, creamy hot chocolate. Yes, it would be fantastic. He'd be so believable. Yes, yes, yes. He could barely wait. He was quivering entirely with anticipation. This would be so perfect. Dinner could not come soon enough.

x

Severus's good mood had followed him through the day, through his classes, through conversations with his colleagues, but now he was finally here. Dinner. It would be fantastic. The boy was whole, pure again.

There was a small part of his mind that was irritably drawling, calling him an idiot, telling him that the boy just couldn't have magically become fixed_. No wizard or witch could possibly claim to do that._ The giddy Severus shut up the old, monotone killjoy. The boy looked fine, he had to _be_ fine.

The first real warning lights went off in Severus's head when Draco arrived early and sat expectantly, the next came in the furtive, desperate movements with which he grabbed food and piled his plate, and the dessert course positively terrified him. He realized with every bite of pudding, cake, and candy that he recognized everything about the boy now. Every glance, every motion, every bite - he recognized them all. The moment he realized this, Severus rose and started to make his way toward the boy, but was stopped by Madam Pomfrey; she blithered on about some student that had had some sort of accident with a potion. Severus dimly remembered the incident, along with the fact that the dumb child had deserved it. He tried to edge his way around the stout witch, but she stood firmly planted in his way and Severus was forced watch helplessly as many students rose and left the Great Hall, Draco among the wave.

Madam Pomfrey finally stopped talking and Severus start making his way toward the door when she called out, "Oh, Severus, by the way, I've notified the Headmistress of the situation with the Malfoy boy. She'd like to have some words with you. She told me to tell you to meet her after dinner."

Severus bit back a row of curses and stormed toward the Headmaster's office. While he was glad he no longer held that position, he hated dealing with that woman, which, he reasoned, probably had a lot to do with old House rivalries.

"Severus," Headmistress McGonagall rose from behind her desk. "Thank you for coming so quickly. I just need some details from you regarding this situation for the formal report."

Severus wanted to tell her what he had seen that day; he wanted to say 'nevermind, the boy was fine', or to shout that something was desperately wrong. Somehow the boy had suddenly changed into some familiar monster. Instead he sat down and bit his tongue.

"This report is only for formal record," the Headmaster had adapted well to her position, she handled paperwork well and had barely any more white hairs than she had after the Final Battle. "It will be shared with no one else for the time being."

x

When Severus left the office he was once again filled with a great sense of gratitude towards Minerva for taking the position so gracefully. If he had been behind that desk … he shuddered, his hand cramping at merely the memory of all that paperwork.

He had to find the boy now. He doubted the poor creature would be flying, something had changed that day and Severus was willing to bet the boy would be in none of his old haunts. Severus would have to work with the decades-old memories to figure out where the boy would be. He cleared the bathrooms in the dungeons quickly, his classroom, the library, outside the castle, in the gardens, but part of him knew - even as he was searching, that he wouldn't find the boy in any of those places. He'd find him in that one, sad terrible place he could always count on finding Lily when she went missing.

The kitchens were warm and bright, despite all his years here, Severus never got over how weird that seemed to him. To him, the kitchens were a place of pain and hurt and blood, not little first years sneaking midnight snacks. The remnants of the Halloween feast, including the candies and puddings, were displayed out for any late-night munchies to devour them while the rest of the food was being carefully stored or disposed of.

At first glance nothing seemed amiss. The elves working in the kitchens, paid him no heed. Nothing seemed off in the air, everything seemed normal, but he knew - he just knew - that it couldn't be. He went farther back in the kitchens, to the back corner of an old storeroom - he had found Lily there a number of times - and sure enough, Draco was there surrounded by food.

x

He fingers were sticky, his hair was messy, and crumbs were caught in the folds of his robes. He barely tasted the food as he brought it to his mouth, over and over again. It all hurt, his stomach felt like it was going to burst, but at the same time it felt so, so empty. He needed more and more. He felt like he would never have enough, he would never be full. It felt so great to be recovered.

**Author's Note: Thanks to my awesome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. Please review!**

**Also Happy Holidays and stay safe!**


	16. Someone Else

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, self-injury, and other eating disorders. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter Fifteen - Someone Else**

Severus was speechless for a moment. It was one thing to suspect and fear, but it was something else entirely to actually _see_. He was thrown off for a moment, but then he recovered and ran the numbers through his head - quickly, roughly. He rebelled against the thought of letting the boy eat more to get more nutrients, he knew it didn't work that way at this point - he was too far gone. Besides, the food he was so desperately swallowing held close to no nutritional value anymore.

He moved into sight smoothly and quickly, bringing his hands to rest on top of Draco's. They felt cold and wiry, he could feel the boy's heart rate through just his fingertips light on his wrists. It was fast and hard, excited and scared.

Severus removed the food from his hands. The boy didn't react, didn't say anything, he just stared ahead - catatonic. Severus put an invisibility spell over the both of them and half-carried the boy to his rooms. He placed the boy on the couch and paced, waiting. He didn't want to hurt the boy, to trigger him even more so than he already was, so he had to wait for the boy to recognize the hurt first.

It had always happened so much faster with Lily, but it had also become so routine for her. She never stopped hating it, never stopped crying as she threw up, never stopped promising herself and Severus that this would be last time, that she would stop. He knew her mind like clockwork, and he had tried to help her the best he could, but it always ended the same - with his arms wrapped around her shoulders and the two of them knelt in front of the cold toilet bowl.

It started with a whimper, a spider-like hand pressed to a hipbone, a dart back-and-forth of grey-green eyes. Severus wasn't sure how conscious the boy was - not sure if he wanted to know. Draco lurched to his feet suddenly, and Severus was there, supporting him and the boy stumbled to the bathroom. The line was blurry between volition and a body unaccustomed to food. It didn't matter yet, maybe it would later, but right then it was just the hard, flat span of Draco's chest as he leaned on Severus hand, barely able to hold himself up as his body shuddered over the toilet. The shaking didn't stop even after nothing came up from Draco's stomach anymore and a single cold drop fell from Draco's eye into Severus's thumb.

Severus worked quickly, divesting Draco of his filthy robes, leaving the boy in his dark pants and shirt sitting on the tile floor of his bathroom. He cleaned the boy's hair and handed him a bottle of mouthwash, helped him stand and leave the bathroom - the smell of vomit lingering thick in the air. Severus Transfigured the couch into a bed again and let the boy curl up beneath the blankets. He gazed up at Severus through blurry eyes, still hazy, and mumbled, "You see, I can eat. I'm okay."

Severus pushed the boy's head back down to the pillow, not looking forward to when he'd wake up. The haze of food and vomit would have cleared and he'd be able to look back on the day. He knew the boy wouldn't like what he'd see.

It was the way of things, though. Severus picked up some papers and began to grade them, content in a singular moment that the boy was under his care again. His breathing was soft and regular from the bed, the bed Severus had made sure would be soft and warm enough for his abused body. The boy would sleep well and be safe that night. That would be a good thing.

x

The boy slept through most of the morning, with Severus checking on him between every class, but he never even moved an inch. Around lunchtime, he began to get nervous, the boy was bound to wake up soon and he wanted to be there for that. He didn't want the boy to feel that moment of panic when he first woke up, the one that would make him wonder where he was, what had happened, if he was safe. Severus wanted to be there immediately, wanted to dispel those fears, but he couldn't abandon his others classes - he couldn't risk more attention being called to him or to the boy.

What he decided to do wasn't particularly moral, but it would oddly work. In the end it would be the safest choice for both of them and the boy would probably never even figure it out. It was alright, Severus reasoned with himself as he readied a weak Sleeping Draught and poured a slow stream of it into the boy's mouth. The boy swallowed, not stirring any other part of his body. The draught would ensure that he wouldn't wake up for at least four more hours, after that Severus was fairly certain that he could be in his rooms for the boy's awakening.

x

The boy was still asleep when he retuned, but he saw in the sudden taughtness of his cheeks and movement of his eyes beneath his eyelids that he would soon wake up. He readied tea and placed a spell on it to keep it warm on the table next to him as he returned to his papers from the night before. He would probably finish before the night was up unless the boy woke up soon.

The boy sighed, rolled over, and blinked his eyes open. Severus was by his side in a second, reaching out to stroke the boy's hair - surprising himself when he realized that it was not long and dark. He shouldn't have expected that, he chided himself, that was years ago, she was dead, this boy was his charge now.

"What-?" The half-formulated question passed through Draco's chapped lips.

"Shhh," Severus intoned. "You're safe. You're okay. Don't strain yourself."

The boy's brow wrinkled and Severus knew he was piecing together the day before.

"Shit." The boy was fully awake now. He sat up and then he swore again. And again. And again.

Severus cocked an eyebrow, "Finished?"

Draco retorted with another round of swears.

When he was quiet for a moment, he ran his tongue over his teeth, "My mouth tastes like shit."

"I imagine it does," Severus handed him a warm mug of lightly sweetened tea.

Draco tasted it, fidgeted, then continued to drink.

"See? I can eat," he tried hopefully.

"You're still sick, Draco. One binge isn't going to make you any better." Severus sipped from his own mug. "I believe that I should mention how truly sorry I am about what happened with your father. I hadn't wanted it to turn out like that and I'm sure he didn't either. If you want I could invite him back and you could speak to him yourself about what happened."

Draco's voice was sharp, "I don't want to see him again. Once was enough for an entire year."

Severus nodded gravely, "Understood."

The both drank their tea in silence.

"Draco?" Severus suddenly questioned.

Draco's eyes flicked up from the warm beverage in his hand.

"Do you… do you want to get better?"

Draco ran his thumb around the rim of his mug. "Honestly? I don't know."

"I could help you."

"I know. That's what I'm afraid of."

**Author's Note: Thanks to my awesome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. And thank you to my fantastic reviewers, you make me so happy. Please review!**


	17. Comfortable

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, self-injury, and other eating disorders. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**So...yeah, I feel like this chapter came out really weirdly cute. Not sure how I feel about that.**

**Chapter Sixteen - Comfortable**

"You could be free from this - the weakness, the danger, the hunger." Severus stretched his calloused fingers. "You could move again, breathe again, live again."

"But that wouldn't be freedom," Draco countered, leaning his back against the stone wall. "I would still be me. I would have still done what I've done. I want freedom from _that_, but that's not something I can get through eating right and taking care of myself. That's not something you can give me."

"I can try. I made it out, I've made it back to normalcy. I'm sure you can do the same."

"Normalcy?" There was no heat in Draco's words. "Is that the only hope that's left for me? Not freedom? Not happiness? Normalcy?"

"It could lead to freedom and happiness," Snape ran his fingers through his dark hair. "Just the little things, you know? Just … can't you think of one thing that makes you happy? One small thing?"

"Flying," Draco said immediately and with certainty.

"Does it really make you happy? Or is it just exercise or a source of danger?"

"No," there was fire kinking in Draco's eyes. "It makes me happy."

"Good," Severus nodded gravely. "What is one food you like the taste of?"

Draco stiffened, but his voice was still light, easy, "What is this - an interrogation?"

Severus chuckled, it was an empty sound, "It's conversation. Just answer the question."

Draco considered for a second.

Severus misinterpreted his hesitation, "Ignore calories."

Draco's eyes flicked, "Spinach. Raw. With a bit of lemon juice on top. Some walnuts."

Severus cocked his head to one side, "That actually sounds rather good."

"It is," Draco nodded, sure of himself in that singular moment. "What's yours?"

Severus mulled over the question, "I had some ham once…in some weird spicy honey glaze. It was, surprisingly, the most delicious thing I've ever eaten."

Draco leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his empty mug held casually in his hands. "And what makes you happy?"

Severus tapped his thumbnail against the enamel of his own mug, slow and pensive, "You know in late fall, that first day when you feel the bite of cold for the first time and you know winter's coming? When the cold is clean and refreshing, before everyone gets sick of it, I mean." His dark eyes flicked over to Draco, as if seeking understanding.

"Yeah," Draco's voice was quiet.

A smile tugged at Severus's lips, "Well, I love that. I look forward to it every year. I love the feel of it. I love watching everyone else react to it to. It's almost as if it's the last day of life for people before they all wall up within themselves for the winter."

Draco tilted his head, like a confused puppy, "They wall themselves up like you do?"

Severus let out a sharp laugh that contained real mirth, "Only around the people who annoy me."

"So," Draco scrunched up his face in mock concentration, "Everyone?"

His teacher smiled, "Not _everyone_, just most people. Not, for example, you."

Draco was suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. He didn't know why, but something about Severus's tone was half comforting, half terrifying. He tried to steer the conversation to safer ground, but barely, "What are you going to do about me? The school or my parents I mean."

"Both the Headmistress and your parents have trusted you to my care. Currently within Hogwarts, your official condition is only known of by myself, Madam Pomfrey, and the Headmistress. I saw no need to alert your other teachers at the present time so as long as you bring your marks up no one will be any wiser."

"Thank you," oddly enough, Draco found himself incredibly grateful for Severus's discretion.

"Some teachers have noticed a change in your behavior, I'm sure. Students as well. The Zabini boy seems to be particularly concerned about you."

Draco's brows knitted together in momentary confusion, "Oh. Alright."

Severus put his mug back on the tray, rearranging the teapot and the mug, reaching for Draco's, putting it on the tray, rearranging again.

Draco grew instantly wary as he watched his professor's nervous fidgeting.

Severus wouldn't meet his eyes, "So. Dinner."

"Or," Draco added smoothly, "You give me another cup of that tea and while I pretend not to notice how much sugar you've put in it we go along with our nice, little conversation."

"Draco," Severus's voice held a warning.

"Look, last night was shit, alright?" Draco tugged at a couple strands of his hair, they slid away with his fingers. "I don't want a repeat, but I'm willing to drink that tea of yours. I don't want it, I don't need it, but I'll drink it."

Severus clenched his fists, his jaw tight, "Fine."

Severus poured both their mugs full in silence.

Draco sipped his beverage slowly, the irritation gradually melting off his features, until a faint smirk pulled at his lips. "You don't actually drink your tea this sweet normally, do you?"

Severus regarded the boy with some curiosity, then shrugged, "No, but I figured you needed it."

Draco ran a hand over his leg, his mind on the previous night. He felt like tiny sponges had been implanted under his skin and were absorbing the tea. He could practically feel himself swelling until he was sure he would burst through the walls of the castle. He would crush all those around him, the people he tolerated and the people he hated indiscriminately.

"Draco," Severus's calm voice brought him back to reality, along with his warm hands around the fingers that had started to scratch at his knee. "Sorry," he placed the boy's hand back on his knee. "You just looked like you were seeing something you didn't want to be seeing."

A sudden thought drifted through Draco's mind. "May I ask you a question?"

Both of them were taken aback by that. Draco hadn't intended to ask permission.

"Of course," Severus gestured with his hand for him to continue.

"You seem to know a…surprising amount about…my condition." Draco picked at a frayed cuticle. "Why is that?"

Draco watched Severus's face go all soft for a moment, then shut down completely. "I'm sorry, Draco. I'm not ready to answer that question today."

Severus's refusal made Draco want to know even more, he had turned a random question into a much needed answer.

"Will you ever be ready?"

"Maybe."

"When?"

"Just drink your tea."

Draco obliged, sipping the still-hot beverage. After a moment, he had come up with a less obtrusive question and the conversation started up again. They talked well into the night when Draco somehow managed to convince Severus to let him stay on the wonderfully and comfortable warm bed for "just one more night, I promise".

He couldn't help it, Draco thought as he drifted off to sleep. He was tired and this was the most perfect bed ever.

**Author's Note: Thanks to my awesome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. And thank you to my fantastic reviewers, you make me so happy. Please review!**

**(Just a bit of advanced warning: I don't have any chapters prepared beyond this point.)**


	18. Base

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, self-injury, and other eating disorders. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter Seventeen - Base**

"How's this going to work out?" Draco asked over breakfast.

"Well," Severus plunked a mug of straight tea in front of Draco, "I was thinking about that. First off, you and I ought to agree on a base number of calories per day for you to start from. Then you can increase it slowly from there as you see fit."

"It's up to me?"

"Relatively." Severus raised a dry brow.

Draco ran his fingers around the lip of the mug, before taking a long sip. "What's this magic number then?"

"It's not up to me to decide that," Severus laid out some fresh vegetables on a cutting board and began to chop them into even pieces.

"Zero, then," Draco caught Severus's eye and smirked.

"I hope that was a joke," Severus waved his knife at the boy before sliding it back down and through a bell pepper.

"Yeah," Draco picked at his lip. "Something like that."

Severus continued to chop; when he was finished, he broke and separated four eggs, beating the whites. When it was all sizzling in a pan on the stove, he turned to the boy again.

"The number, Draco," he prodded.

The boy was tracing the grain of the wood with the tip of his pinky finger.

"Draco," Severus took a step toward the him.

He glanced up then, his eyes like mercury, cold and metallic. His voice was the same, "Why don't you tell me then? You seem to know everything. What magic little number will fix me?"

Severus pursed his lips and turned back to the stove, idly tossing a number over his shoulder.

"No," the syllable was cold and flat.

The eggs were solidifying quickly, Severus threw out another number as he stirred.

"No."

The boy's professor reached into the cupboards and removed two plates, serving up equal portions of the scrambled eggs to the two of them. He gathered silverware as well and placed one set on either side of the table. He paused for a second when he caught a glimpse of the boy, his entire body spoke of tightness; his posture was a very still picture of muscle curved toward the mug of tea he grasped with white knuckles.

As Severus sat himself down, he suggested another number.

The "No" was quieter this time, but just as forceful.

Severus sipped his tea for a moment, considering, then laid down another number.

The boy didn't move, didn't look at Severus, just breathed short, shallow breaths. Severus picked up his fork and waited for the refusal, but the boy finally looked up - no other part of his body moving - and let his pale mouth hiss out a reluctant, "Fine."

Severus inclined his head gravely, fighting the urge to thank the boy. It was an exponentially smaller number than what he had wanted the boy to be consuming, but it was still something. It was a step in the right direction. He hoped the boy would be comfortable in raising it soon. He hoped it would be enough to save him, to save them both.

.

Draco went back to his classes quietly. He sat tuned-out as he always did. No one noticed him or made any indication that they had noticed his absence either. He didn't mind, it was better that way.

He sort of tried to pay attention, a little bit. He didn't put much effort into the matter, but it was a little experiment for him, he wanted to know if the information had suddenly become interesting or somehow relevant - it hadn't.

The one thing that seemed relevant to him now was that number. It wound around him, like an extra layer of flesh, weighing his shoulders down, pressing against his lungs and his heart. It was that shadow in the dark that everyone feared. It was the creak of the floorboard in an empty house. His palms were sweating and his heart was pounding. He counted the beats of his heart until he reached the number. It took far too long, it was far too big. His gaze fell down to his desk - who was he kidding? He couldn't do this.

For that matter, why did he want to do this? There was no point to his gaining weight, no point to his getting "better" because he would still be Draco Malfoy, his actions still would have been the same, he'd still be ostracized. He was deluding himself. That damn Potions professor was concerned about him because he felt some sort of weird, twisted obligation. He didn't know why, nor did he truly care, all that mattered was that it wasn't real concern for Draco that was the driving factor. His own father hardly even cared about him. Draco Malfoy was just another shadow, another ghost of the halls of Hogwarts, he was completely and totally irrelevant and that number of calories would do nothing to change it.

The number was toxic and he should not have agreed to it, it would be his doom. He couldn't actually allow himself to eat that much.

Draco dug his nail into a groove in his desk, trying to calm himself. All he had to, he rationalized, was _look_ like he was getting that amount of calories, but he could really just eat as little as he wanted. The Great Hall was perfect for that, he sat far enough away from the Head Table that there was no way Severus could actually _see_ the food on his plate, just the motions of eating: putting food on his plate, cutting his food, bringing his fork to his mouth, chewing. Severus would probably ask for a report - or something equally ridiculous - on what he had eaten. Draco would just lie, that would be the easiest. And whenever he was asked if he wanted to up his caloric intake, he could just make up some nonsense as to how he wasn't comfortable yet. He could manage this, yes, it could work. Snape would get off his case and Draco could continue to shrink and eventually, like a dog tired of the chase, the old bat would finally leave him alone.

Moderation was the key, moderation and forced normalcy. Snape wanted to see him as fine so if he presented himself as that cheery, healthy kid, he would be believed. Simple psychology. The better he acted the easier it would become and then, finally, he would be free from all this nonsense. Free to starve and fade and die.

**Author's Note: Thanks to my awesome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. And thank you to my fantastic reviewers, you make me so happy. Please review!**


	19. Rush

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, self-injury, and other eating disorders. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

**Chapter Eighteen - Rush**

Draco rushed directly out of his last class towards the Great Hall, his heart hammering more than usual. He wanted to be there. He wanted to be seated. Normal. He wanted to be so casual that when Snape couldn't find him and went to the Great Hall, he'd have no excuse to drag him out to eat under his supervision.

This would be so perfect. He could pull it off. Adrenaline was pumping through his body and Draco was shocked to find himself looking forward to the charade. He was impatiently expecting the lies and deceptions; it was like he was watching one of those trashy muggle television shows. This would be his excitement - his break from the monotony of starving and schoolwork.

It would be a challenge, but it would be perfect to pull off and Draco was nothing if not perfect. He settled himself into his old seat at the bench and waited, watching silently as the room slowly began to fill up.

"Good to see you, mate," Blaise Zabini clapped him on the shoulder as he sat down next to Draco.

Draco flicked his grey-green eyes over to his dark friend. Severus had said the other Slytherin was concerned, but maybe he thought it was something else. There would be no way to hide his lack of eating from Zabini who sat so close, so it was best to hide it in plain sight - keep the other believing the lack of food was a symptom of some other issue, not the actual issue. This part would be more difficult, but it was a challenge Draco stretched towards. The cogs in his mind clicked and whirred, calculating, creating lies and excuses for every plausible question.

The table slowly reached capacity as all the students filed in. Draco took a moment to search out faces from those in his year and was surprised to find a shockingly low number of kids had returned to do their eighth years. There were those that had died, of course, but the number of those returning was too small to be attributed just to that. Maybe they had given up magic, preferring to live in the ignorant bliss of muggles. Or maybe they had just given up on their education - Draco wished he had done the same.

The food appeared on the table with a flurry of colors and smells. Draco immediately tensed as the table in front of him suddenly became an edible minefield. He took a moment to try to bring his mind away from the food. He couldn't tell if he wanted to eat it or throw it in the rubbish. His body was telling him it was hungry, but it wasn't even all that loud yet. To distract himself, he swept his gaze up to the staff table and was surprised to see Snape seated with a plate of food already in front of him. The Potions Master's eyes were intent on the boy.

Draco sneered up at the figure, then brought himself back to the problem in front of him. He just needed to keep calm. He could do this. He had already calculated how much he was supposed to eat that meal and he carefully dished out the exact amounts of acceptable foods. A large portion of his plate was boiled squash, but he also placed a turkey drumstick on his plate as well as one slice of bread.

He couldn't stop himself from risking another glance up at the head table, but tried to mask it with a falsely approval-seeking expression. He hoped the slant of his brow, the pout of his lips, would ask, "Oh dear Severus, am I doing good enough?"

The older man nodded every so slightly and Draco returned to his plate. This was the card he'd play then: nervous and constantly looking up for acceptance from the head of his house. He would appear nervous, but determined to get better instead of suspicious. This would actually be really good - it would work perfectly.

He started with a bite of squash - an actual bite, too, one that he put in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. He put down his fork for a moment, pausing, then reached for his slice of bread. He peeled off a piece with just slightly exaggerated movements and brought it to his mouth. He opened his mouth, flicked his wrist, and started chewing, but he brought the piece of bread back down with his hand. As a second thought, he glanced around quickly at his table mates. Not a single one of them appeared to have noticed his feint.

The meal continued like that - eating some real bites, but discarding a lot more. He didn't eat all of the squash, but he did consume a few select bites of turkey - once he had meticulously scraped all the skin off of it, of course. He honestly felt okay with the food he had put into his system. His stomach was complaining, though, that's what kept him comfortable. He'd have to eat for a bit so he didn't pass out again, but he didn't have to eat a lot. He didn't deserve to eat a lot. He licked his lips nervously and glanced up at the head table just as dessert appeared on the table.

Draco whipped his head around to stare at the delicate creations. Mentally he berated himself, how could he have forgotten about dessert? It did happen at every meal. He hadn't been thinking clearly, he had no idea what to do about this. Would it be normal for him to take some dessert? Would Severus expect it? Did normal students have dessert with every meal? How much did they take? Draco's hands began to tremble with the realization that he had completely and utterly forgotten just how to eat normally.

He didn't want dessert. He didn't trust himself to even put it on his plate. Quickly he brushed the food he didn't eat on to the ground, then lurched to his feet, and dashed out of the Great Hall.

He ran down the corridors, the sound of his feet against stone something he could hold on to. His mind was racing, his heart was pounding, his eyes darted every which way - unable to focus and settle.

He had been doing so good until dessert appeared. He had pulled it off. But those damn puddings and breads had probably ruined it for him. Damn them! Draco slowed, stopped, slammed his fist against a wall and then sank to the ground, watching the blood well out of his scraped knuckles.

He heard the footsteps long before Snape had even turned down the right hallway. Draco had at some point become so well acquainted with the other man's footsteps that he didn't have to guess who it would be rounding the corner. He took a deep breath, readying himself and his story.

When Snape came into view, the boy glanced up, trying to appear remorseful. "I tried. But I forgot about dessert."

Severus leaned casually on the wall opposite Draco. "I didn't expect to see you there. If it would be easier you could continue to take your meals in my rooms. I promise I don't serve dessert."

Draco's lip twitched up. "I figured if I'm doing your crazy idea I might as well do it all the way. Eat what I'm supposed to, where I'm supposed to."

"As long as you're comfortable with that." Severus's voice was gentle, almost melodious.

"Yeah." Draco nodded, then smirked, "Do people actually eat that shit?"

"It's actually quite good, Draco. Maybe you'll try it again sometime." Draco's laugh was hollow in the near-empty hallway.

"I doubt that."

**Author's Note: Thanks to my awesome beta, WickedTorchwoodFan. And thank you to my fantastic reviewers, you make me so happy. Please continue to review!**


	20. Support

******Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, self-injury, and other eating disorders. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe. 3**

Chapter Nineteen - Support

Snape was watching him. His dark hair framed the thin planes of his face, his fingers creating a bridge under his pronounced jaw; aside from blinking he wasn't moving a muscle. It was simultaneously unnerving and comforting, Draco thought. But he didn't need it.

Snape was watching him to make sure all that food stayed inside Draco's body. He was watching him to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. He was there to keep Draco from sticking his fingers down his throat and completely losing himself on the linoleum floor of the bathroom. There wasn't anything for the Potions professor to worry about, though. Draco hadn't eaten all of that disgusting food. He had come to terms with what he did eat and he would keep it down. Snape didn't know that, though, he probably thought Draco's stomach was stretching and creasing under the trains of all the carbs and fat and protein he'd piled into it. He was probably thinking that even now fat was working itself into the flesh over Draco's bones, sliding through his muscles and skin until he grew puffy and soft.

Let him think that. That was what he was supposed to think. That was fine. This silence was _not_ fine, though. It was too loud. It left every singular twitch and breath on Draco's part up to careful scrutiny. What was he giving away? What could he possibly give away? Would Snape even be able to tell that something was amiss from the tilt of his head or the rhythm of his breathing? Words could distract, they could fill the void.

"Aren't you going to ask me how it went?" Draco drawled mockingly.

"Well, from your hasty exit I had assumed that it did not go so well." Snape stopped his scrutiny of the boy to maintain simple eye contact with him.

Draco tried to not let himself relax physically. Another lie rolled off his lips, "No, it was actually sort of okay up until dessert. I had known what was coming, you know? I knew how to handle it." Not really a lie, just not the truth either.

Snape raised a dark eyebrow. "You had it all planned out then, I presume?"

"Yes." Draco felt no guilt over the half-truths that were dribbling out of his mouth, they were his protection. "Of course, I did."

"Do you want to continue eating there?" Snape asked. "You are more than welcome to return for meals here if it would be easier for you."

_No!_ Draco's mind screamed. He couldn't let that happen, he needed to keep up the charade. He needed to bring himself back together, he needed to be in control. He'd been spinning too fast and off-kilter with Snape, there was something about the older man that made him feel like he almost could and should eat. He needed to break those ties and recenter himself. The best way to do that would be to slowly move away from him, lying through his teeth the entire time. Maybe whatever option Snape was offering would help him in the end, maybe he could be cured and happy eventually - but did Draco really deserve that? He most certainly didn't think so.

"No," he drawled as slowly as he could bring himself. "That which does not kill us only makes us stronger, right?"

"I never expected you to quote a muggle." Severus's intent gaze had not wavered from his face.

Draco shrugged, "Well, I'm just full of surprises, I guess."

There was a too-long pause before Snape drew a breath and continued. "How was your day today?"

Draco laughed too high and too hard. "Do you mean aside from the disaster just now?"

The older man didn't even deign to give a response. He could tell the child was not being entirely forthcoming with him and refused to play his little game. Sure, joking about food and having a laugh was one thing, but putting up a total smoke-and-mirrors facade was another. He didn't trust anything Draco said completely, he knew he would be a fool to do so no matter how much he wanted to, but there was something consistent about the boy now - he had lost the edginess that surrounded him previously when he was avoiding the topic of food. Maybe it would be best to strike this demon a glancing blow if he couldn't attack it head on.

The silence between them filled the empty pockets of the room, darkened the shadows under their eyes. Neither of them had been getting enough sleep recently, the disorder was in too tight control. Draco shifted in the seat that had been so comfortable moments before which now felt like a slab of concrete on his backside.

He didn't want to play Snape's game, he wanted to play his own game - and to win, but the silence made him nervous again. He scrunched up his face in his best Malfoy sneer and allowed one word to break that tenuous cloud. "Boring."

"I imagine it would be quite so, Draco, if you went through your day refusing to engage. For any voyeur these halls must be so dull."

"Engage?" Draco's voice dripped with scorn. "And with _whom_ exactly do you suggest I engage? The students who are afraid of me? The students who hate me? Or maybe the teachers who just don't know what to do with me so they ignore me? You're right, they all sound like thrilling conversation partners."

He was back, Severus realized, the defensive boy. The eating disorder was using the child as a puppet, its claws were firmly enmeshed in the boy's shoulders, blue-tinged lips dribbling poison into his susceptible ears. The boy had never been the sunshine-and-daisies type, but he had not been this belligerent, either, before he was being consumed. Severus knew he couldn't let it phase him, the boy would need a sense of stability in his battle should he choose to fight it, and Severus hoped dearly to provide that wall.

"If you were to look I am sure that you would find many of your peers understand your actions and forgive you. Not all of them, of course, I won't lie to you and tell you that, but truly if you were to seek friends you would find them. Especially with your classmate Zabini. You are alone in this by choice only. Your other professors, if you asked them for help, would be happy to give it. You may not believe it, but we are all rooting for you. And even if you hate your classmates and professors I am here for you; I need you to understand that. Even if you just want to talk about the weather, you need to know that you can always come to me."

Severus finished his speech and sat back in his chair, he had said his piece even though he wasn't sure if Draco had even listened. Maybe he was too deep in his own mind of food and fat to truly register what had been said to him. Or just maybe, he had struck early enough and pierced through part of that wall to enter and leave his message in the poor boy's head.

The yellow head moved slowly and painfully on the boy's shoulders as he rolled his neck up to stare listlessly at the dark figure. "I don't want to talk about the weather. It's _boring_."

"Then what does interest you, dear boy?"

"Food. Always food.

**Author's Note: Sorry for being away for so long. I'm back, though. It's your reviews that really inspired me to keep this going and so I did. 3 Stay safe! Thank you also to my fantastic beta, WickedTorchwoodFan.**


	21. Scared Again

******Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, self-injury, and other eating disorders. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

Chapter Twenty - Scared Again

He had to do this, he had to do this, he didn't care, he had to do this. He wanted to smash things. He wanted to fill the world with shards of glass until he could lose himself in the cloud of dust they left behind. He wanted to cease to exist so utterly that no contention could be brought to the point of his non-eating. If he was gone, he'd never have to eat again. He'd never have to be weak or scared or hurt again. He wouldn't have to be here ever again, rocking back and forth on floor in the dimly lit bathroom, trying to choke back his gasping breaths.

The world was rushing all around him. He was a little, white bird trying to stay flying amidst a swarm of crows swooping in to seize his feathers. Their cawing echoed too loudly in his ears, at night all he could hear was their cawing. "Just eat, damnit."

And then there were the ravens, diving in, black as night, shrilling, "Don't you dare eat." Their beaks held serpents' tongues. "You don't deserve food."

He knew the ravens. He knew the ravens oh so well, his tired wings wanted to ease toward their flock. He wanted to be swallowed in the night shadow of their jet black wings because it would be simple.

Severus called to him from the other flock though, his words and reasoning making sense. His heart urged him over there, he knew the crows would play games with him and taunt him, but they wouldn't let him fall.

But he was just one little, white bird all alone. He didn't know what to listen to: his wings or his heart. And so he was here again, gasping and pleading that the path become clear to him. That the voices cawing all around him just shut up and leave him a moment's peace inside his own head. That the world stop spinning for just a moment so he could take a breath.

But the voices weren't shutting up, the world kept on twirling violently out of control, and Draco pushed his fingers down his throat.

And for a moment, it was quiet.

There was the awful sound of his throat straining and the vomit dumping into the dingy toilet water, but in that second Draco's attention was just on that bowl in front of him, his own actions in that singular moment. He had managed to shut the world out for a second, just a second.

When he came back up, back to himself, he felt the burn in his throat and the hot tears forced out of his eyes. He tasted the sour bile and defeat thick on his tongue.

He took a moment for himself in there, locked in the stall, locked away from the world and then he gathered himself together and turned to the door of the cubicle, sliding the bolt of the door, making a sound like a bullet. In a haze, he opened the door and stepped out smack dab into the broad expanse of Severus' chest.

The Potions Professor was standing in the aisle between the stalls, feet planted, arms crossed, looking down his hooked nose at the boy. His dark eyes sparked like firecrackers and every muscle in his body was tense.

As he spoke, he looked as if he was trying to break the muscles in his lips and cheeks out of their mold of a frown. Every word came out separately and cold, accusatory. "I thought you said you didn't do that."

"I-" Draco started, not really sure of where he was going, but he was interrupted by Severus's fiery voice, as the older man grabbed Draco's thin bicep in a death grip. He pulled the boy closer to himself, flush against his body. He leaned his face closer to the boy, making his voice even more intense and terrifying.

"I thought you said it wasn't your thing!"

"It's not," Draco tried to rip his arm out of Severus's steely grip, eyeing the older man apprehensively. The grip just tightened, pulling Draco closer, he could feel the heat of Severus's body surround him, the air vibrated with the beating of his heart.

"Then why did you do it?" Severus was almost desperate, his eyes were pleading and vulnerable.

Draco narrowed his eyes and sneered up at his professor. "It's your fault, you know. I did this because of you."

Draco's blow had hit his mark, Severus reeled away from Draco, retracting his hand from the boy's arm. His face was aghast.

"I- How could I-" he stammered.

"You made me do this." Draco told him, staring deep into his Professor's eyes. "This was your fault."

The older man was stunned, still. Draco took the opportunity to hastily retreat from the bathroom, leaving the prone form of Severus alone, a dark figure in the large, empty bathroom.

He couldn't let him feel bad about this. He needed to get away from the man who so desperately wanted to help him. Draco had been keeping up his charade for a couple of weeks and Severus wasn't buying any of it, they got into fights almost daily. He would plead with Draco, try to reason with him and the concepts weren't even all that foreign to Draco. He understood the older man's arguments and wanted to give in, to give himself up to the security he offered.

And that's why he had to do it. He was so scared and he didn't know what to do**;** he couldn't figure out where to turn and so he did what he had always done when he was scared and confused.

He should have known Severus would follow him, the older man had been watching him like a hawk. He hadn't wanted to be found out, he had wanted to keep this a secret, to keep him calm; but the look on the older man's face in the bathroom showed him that his discovery was more of a gift than a curse. He'd push the blame on the older man and force him to turn away himself. If he thought that he was causing the boy to destroy himself more, he would withdraw. He wouldn't press it to hurt the boy further, would he?

He made his way back to his room and sat down on his bed. The springs creaked loudly in the emptiness. He refused to let himself feel bad. He refused to let himself feel the hammering of his heart or the shaking of his fingertips. He refused to let himself get panicky again because he didn't know where to go next. He refused to think that he was now truly alone and he almost didn't know what to do with himself anymore. He refused to let himself feel anything other than the sick calmness that had swept through him.

**Author's Note: I just want to say that I had planned on ending this story, I wrote the final chapter, but then I received shortly one right after the other: a lovely message from Martina Malfoy Lestrange and another lovely message from poplip with the link to a wonderful picture from her: 1997poplip .deviantart #/d5evnrg (sans the spaces, of course). And those two lovely people convinced me that I should do what I felt was right as an author and continue this story, so just know that it is one hundred percent my reviewers that are keeping this story going. (And, if you think if would work well for me to end the story now, please tell me that as well.) I love you all. Stay safe! Thank you also to my fantastic beta, WickedTorchwoodFan.**


	22. Uninhibited

******Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, self-injury, and other eating disorders. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

Chapter Twenty-One – Uninhibited

That night Snape drank. It was the first of many nights he would allow the bottle to lull him to sleep; it muddled everything in his head enough that the guilt managed to fade away, but then every morning it was back again coupled with a pounding headache. He couldn't look his colleagues in the eye because he knew that the late night drinking did no favours for him. He tried to mask it as best he could, but then he found that he flinched every time he saw Draco and needed to have a bit to drink to just get him through each class.

It really wasn't too much of a surprise when he was summoned up to the Headmistress's Tower. It was late at night and Severus had just brought the bottle out and was sipping in full force as he graded. He moved slowly and gracelessly to the tower and climbed the stairs, never feeling older in his life.

Minerva greeted him with a deep, steaming mug of coffee and silence. She sat across from him and sipped her own mug of tea, waiting for the silence to draw the problem out like poison from a snake bite. Snape knew the game, he had played it with Draco enough times to be expert at its workings. He set his jaw and sat in silence thinking of everything but the skinny boy throwing up.

Minerva shook her head slowly, the greying hair wound up around her head bobbing with the motion. "You've been drinking, Severus. On the job too."

He didn't see any gain from denying something they both knew was true.

They both knew he shouldn't be doing it and so Minerva didn't bother saying that either. Instead she asked, "Why?"

Severus fought the urge to shrug. The motion reminded him to much of Draco. It was weak, diminutive, immature and had the pale boy's face drawn all over it. Instead he merely said, "It's a long, involved story."

The wrinkles at the corners or Minerva's mouth softened. "Care to tell?"

Severus laughed dryly. "We haven't nearly got enough time."

There was no humor in her pleasant smile. "Then simplify for me, please Severus."

He didn't want to tell the Headmistress the whole story – he didn't want others to know how he had failed. He had honestly thought that he and he alone could save the boy and bring him back from the depths of hell;_why_ had he thought that? He should have learned his lesson all those years ago, he hadn't been able to save Lily. She had died with her eating disorder as strong in her as it ever was – isolated and tormented inside her own head. There was no more he could do for the boy, it was obvious his efforts weren't helping and if he wanted Draco to ever lead a normal, happy life Severus was going to have to stop deluding himself and release control.

x

About an hour later, Severus rose from the seat across from Headmistress McGonagall and shuffled out into the hallway. Already itching to drink himself under the table. He had meant to give the boy up and relinquish control over his condition, but every time he tried to say something about the pale boy's condition it was as if there was some sort of block in his throat. He gave up too easily and vowed to himself that the next day he would make a plan to take one last crack at healing the boy. Tonight he would wallow in his misery and drink and come morning he would approach the challenge with a new vigour and persistence. Severus believed that before he had set that number for Draco they had been making progress, that he alone was beginning to understand the boy. It was something about him setting an exact number which had stressed the boy out and caused him to resort to throwing up in a bathroom stall.

He had meant to tell the Headmistress about Draco's worsening problem, he really had, but when it came down to it he just couldn't get the words out of his mouth. The boy should at least have some warning about what was coming if nothing else.

He was finally back at his chambers and slid soundlessly through the door. There was something off about his sitting room. One of the great, plush armchairs had moved a few feet and there was a fire roaring in the hearth. Severus never left a fire burning when he left his rooms, he was sure of it. Then he found the source of the moved furniture and the fire, for curled up on the ground right next to the fire was a certain fragile, sleeping boy.

x

As much as he tried to keep it from bothering him, Draco did feel guilty for hurting his professor. The poor, old man was only trying to help after all. It was just Draco's fear which kept him from accepting it and letting the other man in. Maybe some other time or some other place he would have welcomed Severus's guidance, but it was too much too soon and Draco was scared and when Draco was scared the only way he could calm himself down was through meticulously monitoring and controlling his eating. He had nothing against Severus and he wished he didn't have to hurt him, but the old man's words terrified Draco.

He had done simply what he had to do to preserve his eating disorder.

He refused to let himself feel guilt or regret. He utterly refused. He would not feel such weak thoughts or emotions. He would not go back to the older man. It didn't matter how safe he felt with the dark professor looking out for him or how even though he was carefully moderating his intake uninhibited he still felt wild and out of control. It didn't matter how warm the bed was in the Potion master's chambers or how Draco felt the cold emanating from his bones.

He tried so hard to keep himself from thinking these things as he lay in his rock hard bed at night, shivering. He tried to count the threads of the curtains over the windows. When that failed he counted the breaths moving in and out of his body, but even to his own ears they sounded ragged and indicative of weakness. He tried to corral his thoughts together and not let them wander to the warmth of the dark man, the yearning to be held and taken care of for once, and the carefree days of his childhood. He counted his heartbeats. He counted his calories. He counted the days he had been here, the days until he would leave. He counted so many things that the numbers began to just blend together in his mind and he could count no more.

It was then that he lay in silence, not counting and trying so hard not to think.

It was the not thinking that did him in because by the time he was aware of himself again, he was pressing himself through Snape's doors and standing in his sitting room looking for the older man – unaware of any conscious decision that had brought him there.

The rooms were empty. Draco was tired and cold. He stoked up a fire in the hearth, all the thoughts in his head shouting so loud over each other that they became one indistinct whirring. He tried to pull a chair over closer to the flames, but it was too heavy and Draco was too weak. He sat himself down instead on the dark carpeting surrounding the fireplace and curled himself inwards towards the warmth.

Maybe Severus would find him here and take him back to his own chambers and let each of them continue on in their own separate miseries or maybe Severus would put him in that lovely soft bed and protect Draco from the darkness festering in his mind.

**Author's Note: This chapter has now been beta-edited. Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta who has emerged from the dust, WickedTorchwoodFan. Thank you so much to my reviewers and my readers who don't review. I love you all and stay safe.**


	23. Exposed

**Please note that this chapter and this story contains triggers for anorexia, bulimia, self-injury, and other eating disorders. Please don't read this is it will trigger you. Please be safe.**

Chapter Twenty-Two - Exposed

"What are you doing here?" Severus's voice was flat in the room.

Draco started at the sound, woken from his half-slumber by the fireplace.

"Sleeping," he drawled, but even he felt like his sarcasm was inappropriate in the moment. He just didn't know how to amend it. How to tell a little without letting it all go. He tried. "I was cold."

"And you thought coming here would help?" Severus let no emotions enter his voice, tried to keep them even from his mind.

Draco swallowed, he had thought that this would be easy; that whenever he chose to go back to Severus the older man would welcome him with open arms. He never thought that he would be mad at him. He thought that the other man would feel guilty and sad and scared, but never mad. Here he was, though, still and dark in the shadows.

Draco shrugged. "It always did before."

"Before what?" Severus's voice was sharp in the dim room, cracking like a whip against Draco's flesh.

They both knew what, of course, but Severus needed the boy to say it, to put a name to that unspeakable horror. And a small part, a very small part, of him wanted the boy to admit it had been a problem all along – something he had never told Severus, something that had never been affected by Severus.

Draco tried to go for silence, but the dark man was a hard barrier. He had crossed his arms and stood steady, not letting the boy in on whatever he was thinking. Now that Draco was here, his resolve was beginning to crumble. He was sick of all the numbers. Sure, counting calmed him, but he already knew how many times each individual thread in his bedspread knotted to make the pattern; before he even arrived at breakfast he already knew how many calories he'd consume that day; he already knew all the numbers and pain, but he didn't know how to make them go away.

He conceded to Severus's question, looking away from the man who had trusted him. "Before I made myself throw up. Before you caught me and," he paused a moment, starting to think, but he just rushed ahead anyway, "I lied to you."

He knew that those four words would be the key to Severus letting him back in to the warmth just as he had known that blaming his purging would somehow push Severus away. He knew the old man sometimes better than he knew himself, which words would cause a certain reaction even if he did not know why.

He was right. Severus immediately softened at the confession. His dark eyes implored Draco. "You lied?"

"It was really … you," Draco's speech was halting, "that caused … it. My vomiting. It wasn't you. It was – I was scared. And I, um, I thought it would help."

"Did it help?" Severus moved closer to the pale boy.

He shook his head. "At first. Yeah. At first it all helped. But–" he stopped and licked his chapped lips.

Severus was right next to the young Malfoy now, he draped an arm around the other's shoulders and steered him towards the kitchen. "Come on, I'll get you some tea."

Draco tried not to lean in to Severus's body, but the older man was so warm and perfect and even though Severus could feel Draco's own body – all the things he hated and was ashamed of – he felt safe and wonderful and like everything was perfect. This was what he had needed so desperately, not counting, not numbers, not sleep, but warmth and security.

In the kitchen, Severus didn't offer the boy food, not yet. This new conversation felt too young and frail – like it would crumble under the weight of food. He made the tea and set out milk and sugar as offerings; offerings which the boy didn't take.

They sat across from each other, something which Severus took to be slightly antagonistic. He wanted Draco to know that he was on the boy's side, but was against his eating disorder. He wondered if there were physical ways to express what he could not with words.

He looked at the boy and tried not to think about how much weight he had lost or how he imagined the boy's organs were greatly weakened. He tried to push away thoughts of all the texts he had read about the physical effects of eating disorders on a body. He tried not to wonder how long the boy could continue his behavior before he would be lost forever.

He watched Draco drink the tea; there was a slight tremor in his hands as he brought the mug to his lips but Severus didn't know whether to attribute it to weakness, shivering, or nerves. For once, he thought, the boy's eyes were expressive, blatantly and apprehensively staring at his professor.

Severus cleared his throat and asked, "But what?"

Draco's eyebrows drew together across his forehead. "Excuse me?"

"Earlier," Severus gestured with his hands. "You said the starving and the vomiting helped at first, and then you said "but" and stopped. But what?"

It took all the courage Draco had, every single bit of him that wanted to fight the disorder, to look into his mentor's eyes and say, "But I'm still scared."

Severus gestured for Draco to continue. "What are you scared of?"

The boy was starting to close off, he was getting nervous. He shrugged, still trying to push himself out of his corner. "Everything. It's all utterly terrifying. I can't eat normally. It's … impossible now. And you. You've made me scared to die. I don't want to die. Not yet. And part of me thinks that if I keep on going like this I will. But I can't stop." Draco's voice had started to shake with suppressed emotion; Severus watched patiently as the boy stopped talking and took a deep breath to regain control. When he began speaking again it was in a subdued tone, as if he were ashamed to admit to his secret. "The numbers used to give me control. _Food_ used to give me control. But I haven't felt like I've been in control for a long time now. I thought that if I pushed you away and started restricting again I'd regain control and I wouldn't be so scared. But I haven't gotten any more control and I'm still scared and all I can think sometimes is that I just want this to be over and so I don't let myself think. But that's how I ended up here; I wasn't thinking and I wasn't counting, but I guess I was still scared. And I'm just done with this, I'm so fucking done."

Draco stopped talking and stared down at his hands. His fingers were shaking horribly and continued to do so even when he grasped them tightly together. His breathing was ragged. That was more than he'd ever said before on the matter, more than he'd ever allowed to think before on the matter. He had seen an opportunity and had pushed through his fear, not even knowing what he was going to say. He didn't even know if it had made sense, he had just talked and now he felt naked and entirely exposed under Severus's careful gaze.

"Draco," Severus sighed, knowing the choice he had to give the boy. "We both know you have a problem and it will kill you if it continues to worsen. I think we both know that I'm not qualified in this matter, but that I will fight for you. There are professionals, though, people that are qualified to help you. I'm not sure, but I think it might be best if you go see them, I don't know nearly enough about what's happening to your body to–"

"No." Draco said simply. "I don't want strangers analyzing me or whatever it is they plan to do. I barely trust you to help me, but … I do. I don't want to go anywhere else. I don't even know if I can do this at all, but I think if I could, it would be with you."

**Author's Note: Well, good news everyone: my wonderful, amazing beta, WickedTorchwoodFan, is back and so the last chapter has been updated. One chapter left you guys! This has been a crazy journey, I love all my readers and reviewers. Please stay safe and take care of yourselves.**


	24. Battlefield

Chapter Twenty-Three – Battlefield

The thing was Draco didn't just wake up one morning happy and able to eat normally again. There is no instantaneous cure for eating disorders, not even in the magical world. Every victory was Draco's own hard work in action. He fought his battle. He lost. He won. He cried. He laughed. He screamed. He ate. He neglected to eat. He threw up. He binged. He lost hope. He gave up.

But every time it got too dark, he reached within himself to find that little spark of light that told him he needed to fight, he needed to conquer his eating disorder. He found something to hold on to as he pulled himself up the rocky slope, some light at the end of the tunnel, some dream to chase. Sometimes he needed more help than what he could offer himself and Severus was there to pull him up, to encourage him along. It wasn't up to Severus to make him eat or not, the choice had to be Draco's and no one else's, but he always encouraged him greatly to not give in. They butted heads and argued and sometimes Draco thought he hated the man, but he always encouraged him to fight the disorder no matter what.

On the battlefield, torn and bloody and exhausted, Draco realized, after eating a lunch with others, that he didn't mind the meal he had just consumed. A meal of normal levels. He didn't just understand that it was necessary and hate eating it all the way, he truly had enjoyed the food and enjoyed being full.

The next meal the disorder reared its ugly head, and Draco's hold slipped, but he knew that at lunch he had won a certain victory. It wasn't just that one meal was okay and then his disorder was suddenly cured. It was always going to be a longer war than that, but he knew that every bite was a bullet in his arsenal. Winning wouldn't be the obliteration of the enemy, it would always exist in a small part of his mind, it had been such a large part of his identity for such a long time it would be impossible to _forget._ Winning would be the signing of a peace treaty – the decision for one entity to ignore the other. Every meal, every bite, every smile, was a rain of battlefire on the enemy that broke it bit by bit and meant not giving in for Draco.

It started small at first, that one meal that he enjoyed and then sometime later another meal and even later another meal after that. His life was still riddled with bad meals and bad days and hating himself, but the distance between the good meals started to shrink slowly until somedays were full days of good eating. He still wasn't completely cured then, but he was stronger than ever before against his disorder and was learning to counter its battle tactics. It was on one of the good days when he first thought that maybe he could actually win this war.

It wasn't just a matter of eating or not. Draco had to relearn to live completely. Even though it scared him, had had to learn to reach out to his peers, looking for friends. He found more than he had expected and found not only friends, but understanding and acceptance as well. He wasn't the only one who had been on the wrong side, he wasn't the only one trying to pull himself up and justify what he had done. They sought comfort in each other and Draco realized he was not alone in his struggles. No one else admitted to a disorder such as his, but they each had their personal demons that they had to fight. They spoke together often of battle tactics and strategies to beat their enemies. Draco began to realize he was not alone in the war, not by a long shot.

Of course not everyone loved him and welcomed him with loving arms, but in what school is everyone friends? He learned to see the sneers, the looks, hear the voices murmuring, he learned to roll with it. He layered his scorn on top of it and as he watched them down the bridge of his nose he realized that it felt good to be back here. He wasn't magically transformed into some benevolent character sweeping through the halls of Hogwarts, that would have been out of character for him and the idea of it was nauseating. Instead, he was cool and snarky and rolled down the corridors with his posse. He was safe back in the role he had played before everything fell apart. But now his posse weren't just kids he had bullied, they were his friends who stood up for him just as he learned to stand up for them.

He had fallen so behind in his classes and they still utterly bored him, but Severus conspired with his other Professors to drag the boy up to speed and he was able to find interest in certain subjects, little reasons to keep attending his classes even if it was just a small idea he wanted to pursue. It was too late for him to end his year with stellar marks, but he was able to graduate and leave the school behind him. He was almost sad to see it go.

They had spent so much time together, so many arduous meals, so many nights talking when Draco couldn't bear to sleep. So many fights, so many screaming matches, so many moments of tense silence. So many little victories, so many small jokes and stories, that Draco couldn't just leave Severus and never see him again. They kept up a constant owl correspondence. They met up as regularly as they could when leading their separate lives. One Christmas Eve, years beyond Draco's eighth year, they sat together in the remains of Severus' Christmas party.

He had retired well, buying a quaint, old house that suited his needs quite nicely. Sometimes it was a bit drafty and a bit empty, but in his years he had decided to welcome friends to his bosom and home. Severus was seated in a deep green armchair, swirling a tumbler of Firewhiskey in his long fingers. Draco was at Severus' little sidebar, mixing himself a cocktail. He was dressed in a dark muggle suit that hugged his body well. He no longer looked emaciated, he no longer hid in too-large robes. His muscle filled out the contours of the suit and kept him warm and comfortable. He was starting to realize that he was truly becoming happy.

He took his drink back to Severus and draped himself over the opposite chair. They debated beginning to clean up the mess left by the party-goers, all the cups and plate left on the table, the food scraps that fell to the floor, but even the mere act of lifting their wands seemed out of place in the moment.

They had both had a fair amount to drink at the party, so when Severus had finished his first Firewhiskey and while he was pouring himself another, he felt like he had the courage to tell Draco what he had been meaning to tell the boy for so many years. "Do you remember asking me how I knew so much about your disorder?"

Draco's forehead wrinkled in thought for a moment, he had aged well, grown into the body and face of a man, leaving the skinny, scared boy behind him. "Just barely. It was so long ago."

Draco had found as the years progressed that so much of his last few years of Hogwarts had been a blur, a starved mind didn't make memories so well. The days had all seemed the same – sleeping and starving and hating himself and repeating the next morning. His sharpest memories of that time were his talks with Severus, those endless cups of tea and fights over food in his kitchen, those nights he spent on that heavenly soft Transfigured bed.

"You asked me," Severus cleared his throat, "if I would ever be ready to tell you why I knew so much about what you were going through. I'm not fully ready to tell you now, but I think you should know and I don't think it's a story I'll ever relish."

Draco looked up expectantly, he had very often wondered why Severus had fought so goddamn hard – often harder than Draco himself, especially in the early days – for Draco's health. Sometimes he wondered if he had a debt to pay off.

"I once loved a girl, I never stopped really, but she loved someone else. She trusted me though, trusted me with a secret just like yours. She ate and she threw up and I was the only person to ever know. I could have told someone, I could have gotten her help, but instead I just helped her hide within herself, hide _from_ herself and when she died I knew she was still miserably entrenched within her disorder even though she had a loving husband and newborn child. It wasn't her disorder that killed her, but it easily could have been. Living with that knowledge – it tore my life apart – and I knew I just couldn't let that happen to you."

"Lily," Draco had meant to say it as a question, but it came out sounding like a fact, because they both knew that that was what it was.

"Yes." Severus answered the non-question anyway.

"Thank you for telling me, it really means a lot." Draco and Severus maintained eye contact, something they had become quite good at over the years. The lines of communication had settled deep as roots, thick beneath the soil between them. There were no topics they were afraid to discuss, not anymore.

"It's why I was able to see your disorder and why I was able to see through it. But I want you to know that I wasn't just trying to make up for what I failed to do with Lily. I have always cared about you and your well being."

"To be honest, Severus, if you hadn't fought so hard for me I don't know who else would've. I know I wouldn't have tried. So," Draco swallowed, glancing at the snow falling outside, "thank you."

It was strange, they had spent so much time together, said so much, that Draco's gratitude had always been there and they both knew it, but he had never actually said those two simple words to Severus. He had never verbally acknowledged that the man, who should have been dead, had helped save his life.

"I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you, too," Severus' face was old and sad. He had seen so much unhappiness in his life, he needed the good moments to keep him sane.

Draco smiled. "Well, thankfully, I plan on sticking around for quite a long time."

"Speaking of which," the dark-haired man plunked his now-empty tumbler on the side table next to him. "Shouldn't you be heading back to spend Christmas with your family?"

"I'd rather spend it with my family here." At the other man's confused look, Draco went on. "Severus, you've become family to me. You're more a father to me than that man back at Malfoy Manor. I don't know what I would have done without you." The last bit was said so quietly Severus nearly missed it.

He was not one to cry or get overly emotional, but Draco's proclamation managed to bring a lump to his throat. "You have no idea what it means to hear you say that."

Draco stood up, smiling waveringly. "I think now's the part where we hug. I mean, that's what family members do, right?"

Severus gave a short nod and rose regally. Both men approached each other, unfamiliar with such an expression of emotion, and stared at one another for a few seconds before Severus carefully wrapped his arms around Draco. The blond man leant into him as his arms went around Severus and it became impossible to tell who grasped whom tighter in the hug as the clock on the mantle tolled midnight and that night spun into an eternity of long lives for the two.

**Author's Note: Here it is, everyone: The final chapter of To Fly. I have enjoyed writing this so much and thank you, everybody who has been around for even part of the journey. Some of you have guessed it, but I'll just let you all know that this wasn't ever Draco's story. Not really. It's mine and that's why it has to end – Draco gets out because I am getting out and I'm not going back. So if you ever want to talk to me, about anything, I'm here for you always. This has been an incredible journey and I love you all. Take care of yourselves.**

**And many, many thanks as always to my wonderful beta, WickedTorchwoodFan.**


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